


Friendship Set Aflame

by xikra1648



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Cause a character's a character, Comedy, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, I make a character, It is a Criminal Minds fic, Latina!reader, Legit almost forgot that last one, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship, So do keep that in mind, Warnings May Change, You've seen the show, and don't put that much thought behind their race, besides what would make the most sense for their personal and cultural history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-01-07 15:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xikra1648/pseuds/xikra1648
Summary: 'Love is friendship set on fire.'You'd heard the quote before, you thought you understood what it meant, but it's not exactly something you can know before experiencing it.It's something ineffable, undefinable, impossible to describe with words or even images.  It just sort of...happens.  You have no control over when it happens, where it happens, how it happens, or even who it happens with.  It can happen quick or slow.  It can settle in over time, or hit you like a speeding train.  All that really matters is one moment there's this small candle bringing light and a smile to your face, before that fire spreads to every corner of your being and changes the very fabric of the world as you know it.





	1. A Foot In The Door

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on TANOD, but the muse has dictated that I start a new and lighter-toned project with a less dramatic Rea to give me a break between the drama of TANOD. As less-dramatic as CM can get anyway.
> 
> I'm not intending for this to be as long as TANOD...but I wasn't intending for TANOD to be as long as it is, so we'll see what happens I guess.
> 
> I was also going to leave the 'Relationships' tag blank or list off a series of relationships like 'Rea's friends with most of them, but which one is she gonna smooch?' but one look at my other CM stuff and it wouldn't take much to figure it out.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### A Foot In The Door

 

Morgan had passed your name, and application with a neatly organized resume, to Hotch not long ago.  It was outside the hiring season for the BAU, and a lot of the general staff was filled with local interns, but you’d already interned at a field office in Boston.  Almost more importantly, you were just a few months away from completing a doctorate in Anthropology from MIT – with the specialization and training required for you to be a trained Forensic Anthropologist.

You had a clean record.  A few behavioral issues in high school, but high grades and managed to get into MIT despite that, and you were young to be completing a PhD too.  He’d made a few calls to the field office in Boston, which transferred him to the Medico-Legal team of the local government institution that employed the Forensic Anthropologist that had taken you under her wing – to the point she’d taken you to Sarajevo to identify those buried in mass graves from the war in the 90’s.

It was a risk hiring you, especially considering Morgan had openly admitted you’d become a _baby sister_ to him over the years as your father was his father’s partner in the force.  As much as Morgan didn’t want you to experience the evil the BAU faced on a daily basis, even before you left for college and began studying psychology as an undergraduate degree, you had a way of deciphering how people work and _why_.  You’d make your way to the BAU one way or another.  At least this way, he could make sure you were safe.

Hotch passed your file along to Gideon, looking to get his opinion to _make sure_.  You were about a year younger than Reid, making the risks bigger than they already were as rules would have to be _pushed_ and _fudged_ to give you the rank of _Supervisory_ Special Agent _right_ out of the academy.

It was a risk Hotch was willing to make, _on a trial run_ , but that decision changed when he met you.

 

************

 

After your mom died, brain cancer when you were a teenager, momma took you in as her own.  You’d already looked at her like a second mother as she was your mom’s best friend, but you hadn’t realized just how much you still needed a mom until you lost yours at 15.  Your father…

He’d taken off right after you graduated high school.  No warning beyond quitting CPD that very day.  Just packed everything up, mailed a few things to you, and _left._   You couldn’t exactly _blame_ him, things had been rough and he needed to find a new start as much as you did, you’d just wished he let you know where he was going or how to reach him.

You’d texted Desiree that you were running a bit late, you’d hopped a flight from Boston to Chicago after your classes finished for the day and your flight had arrived _late_ the night before, and would meet her and Derek down the block from the corner store.  You’d, admittedly, gone a little bit _too_ far getting ready for momma’s birthday.  It was just momma, but at the same time, it was _momma._   She was worth straightening your chocolate-brown hair, getting the lining around your dark brown eyes just right,

You were passing by a mural – it was _new_ from the last time you’d been in town – painted onto a brick wall and covering the graffiti underneath when you caught sight of Desiree and Derek.

You were familiar with Derek’s history with the local gangbangers, he’d caused a _lot_ of trouble with a lot of the ones that were making their way _up_ in the local criminal society, and the fact that he’d turned over a new leaf into Chicago P.D. – and subsequently the FBI – garnered a _bad_ kind of attention.  Derek was between Desiree and Rodney, a fight brewing as Desiree tried to keep Derek out of trouble by telling him it was nothing.

“Oi!  Rodney,” you joined in as Desiree moved to stand by the trunk of her car, confident that your presence would help…end things.  The local Mexican community was tight-knit, and to top things off, your brother’s rebellious streak had included running around with the same crew that made up a lot of the local cartel, even a few that had moved up the ranks and down south.  Your brother had disappeared into the cartel, there was no telling where he was or what he was doing, but there was a _code._   If he heard his baby sister got rolled over in his hometown, there would be _hell_ to pay.

Berto couldn’t be there to protect you as your brother, but his sure as hell would be.  Even if it meant getting revenge.  So, you made your move.  A calculated move.

You stepped in.

One wrong move, and Rodney would have a gang war on his hands.  He wasn’t _stupid_.  The cartel wasn’t nearly as big up north as it was in the south, but they were _just_ as dangerous.  “What’s wrong, getting sick of _paying_ for it?”

If Derek pushed much further, he’d be in trouble with the local cops.  Even though his record was cleared, the cops who’d arrested and charged him still remembered.  You had a clear record, even if something came of it, the assumption would be that you were jumped first.

That’s the hand you were _playing_ anyway.

“I was just saying _hi_ to an old friend, no big deal,” Rodney stepped back, holding a confident swagger as he continued to stare Derek down.

“Well, you said hello, I think it’s time you moved on,” you wedged yourself in between Derek and Rodney, “Don’t want interested parties thinking you’ve been hanging around too long.”

You recognized the dealer across the street, he’d been buddies with your brother years ago.  Well… _sort of._   He paid your brother a fee, and he was allowed to continue dealing in the area.  Doubtless his _landlord_ was someone your brother trusted.  You _hated_ playing on that, but you knew you had to.

Rodney laughed, feigning control as he made his exit, “Des, I’ll get at you a little later, huh?”

“Go to hell,” Desiree scoffed, jackasses like Rodney had always turned her stomach and made her taste bile at the back of her throat.  The three of you watched as Rodney led his group away, Derek keeping his eyes glued to the corner they’d turned.

“You okay?”

“Just a fool,” Desiree crossed her arms as she sneered, uncomfortably, at the corner Rodney had just turned, grateful you’d turned up when you did to _guarantee_ there’d be no fight.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.  There’s something I gotta do,” Morgan silently promised the both of you he’d be there soon before snapping his attention to you, “And don’t you think I’m letting you get away with what you just did.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Quit with the attitude and get in the car.”

 

************

 

Momma was smiling wide as the four of you sang happy birthday to her around the small dinner table, not the _traditional_ happy birthday but one with a beat that had the four of you dancing as you sang, while Desi placed the round homemade cake in front of momma.  The four of you were giggling and grinning at her smile as she leaned into a half-hug with Desi.

“Did you make this yourself?”

“Sarah and [Y/N] helped me,” Desi smiled, as she’d admittedly done most of the work as you and Sarah did a _lot_ of talking, but you had helped with the mixing and the decorating of the cake.

“Momma, they wouldn’t let me help,” Derek swore, still grinning and laughing as he sat back in his seat, “So, I dunno how good that’s gonna taste.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”  Sarah wasn’t about to have any of that, pointing an accusatory finger at Derek as she reminded him of just _why_ he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore, “You remember that Christmas fiasco of 1994.”

“I remember that,” momma turned to Derek as she started to laugh herself.  It had been chaos at the time, and they all had to pack up and move Christmas down the street to join your family, but it had become a funny, and dear memory over the years.

“ _Whatever_ , that was _twelve years ago_ , let it _go._ ”

“No, no, no,” Sarah insisted, smiling but still planning on _never_ letting the incident go, “We _still_ get cards from the fire department.”

“Momma, momma, you see how they treat your baby boy.”

“No, no.  No, no,” you jumped in, leaning in closer to Sarah as you pointed your own accusatory finger at Derek, “You don’t get to do that.  You did the same thing just a few months ago and scared the shit out of my roommates when they thought you were burning down the apartment trying to make a cake.”

Derek had been the first to make it to Boston for your birthday, and asked your roommates if he could borrow the kitchen to make you a birthday cake.  You’d forewarned your roommates that, while not _biologically_ related, you had a family that would _absolutely_ cross state lines to celebrate your birthday and they’d all recognized Derek from the multitude of family photos you had decorating your bedroom.  There were pictures of momma, Derek, Desiree, Sarah, your father, your mother, only a scattered few of Berto when you were very young, a few of uncle Hank before he died, and you weren’t even in half of the photos.  They recognized Derek from the photographs, you just hadn’t thought he’d try to make a cake – _without the okay of Desiree or Sarah._

“You little snitch.”

“Says the _baby,”_ Sarah backed you up, causing Derek to come back with a muttered ‘ _you know what,_ ’ before scooping up some frosting from the cake as he got up to reach across the table to try and smear it on Sarah’s face as you _ducked_ to the side as Sarah leaned back.  Laughter filled the dining room, only separated from the living room by a single wall, and momma reached in, with her own smile, to stop the beautifully homemade and decorated cake to become fodder for a food fight.

Wouldn’t be the _first_ time that happened.

Momma’s rule was law, and as you kept grinning and giggling a little, you all sat down and watched with excitement as she blew out the candles on her cake and the four of your cheered in your own way, clapping as the family birthday festivities truly began.  Giggles and laughter, just like every year, as you shared cake, talked about recent events in your lives, and gave momma her presents.  It was a great evening, just like every evening you and Morgan were able to make your way back to Chicago.

It all came to a screeching halt when Detective Gordinsk took Derek into custody.


	2. Meeting Over An Uphill Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I picked Rea’s last name this time. However, it comes from the Spanish word for castle or fortified building. It was mostly given to those working in the castle.
> 
> It’s also easier because, as you could probably tell from the last chapter, Rea’s brother and history with her did will have at least a small part to play.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Meeting Over An Uphill Battle

 

You’d called your internship supervisor, who called her connection in the FBI, who called Agent Hotchner in Quantico.  You couldn’t count on Gordinski to give Morgan his one phone call within the first hour, and you had the freedom to make that call as soon as the door shut behind Morgan.  While you were still an _intern_ , you were still cleared to meet the team outside of the precinct and assist them as needed.  They were also instructed to expect you, as there was reason to believe the charges Morgan could be facing went back _years._

You recognized the black FBI issued SUVs as they parked across the street.  You’d _been_ in a few, it was a bit sketchy for an intern to be in the field, but your mentor thought it was worth the potential backlash, and she was _really_ putting her ass on the line for this one.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked as the man leading the agents across the road came closer.  Stern, determined, neat dark hair and crisp dark suit, even as his tie and jacket blew in gust that permeated the _Windy City._   He clasped your hand in a stern shake as he nodded in affirmation.

“Miss Castillo,” he greeted before introducing the rest of the team, “These are agents Gideon, Jareau, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid.”

“I’ve heard a lot about all of you from Derek, but that’s not _exactly_ why we’re here,” you greeted as well as you could with a polite smile.

“What’s the situation inside?” Agent Gideon switched the topic to something that would prepare the team for what to expect.

“Detective Goldinski made a call to your team not long after the Chicago field office reached Agent Hotchner, but he still expects your team to support his findings.  However, I’ve avoided going inside on my own to prevent stressing the situation further as I have a personal relationship with the entire Morgan family,” you reported on what you knew so far.  You were _technically_ cleared to go through the evidence Detective Goldinski had against Derek, but considering your relationship you deemed it best to let Derek’s team be there when you did so.

Hotch could see why your supervisors gave you such a glowing testimony, even before you’d completed your doctorate.  Even without considering the current situation, your demeanor was highly professional and there was a level of calculation behind your actions that was _surprising_ for someone in their early twenties.

“I will admit there are…personal reasons for Detective Gordinski to have a personal grudge against Derek,” you warned, knowing Derek would be _pissed_ you brought this up while also well-aware the team would come across this _eventually_.  “He will do everything in his power to make sure Derek is held responsible for this.  I won’t claim to know if Derek is innocent or not, but I can tell you Gordinski is _not_ seeing things objectively.  You should also expect an excessive amount of flexing.  I know it’s not your unit’s style to use power moves, but I suggest you do.  It’s the only way you’ll be able to speak with Derek, let alone gather any information, unbiased or not.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nodded affirmatively, professionally but anxious to get inside and get the entire picture, and you nodded in response before waiting for the rest of the team to follow Hotch inside before tailing behind.  It would be best if you _followed_ instead of _lead._   If you lead them inside, the locals might not be willing to let them touch anything, whereas if you _followed_ the only ire would be focused towards _you._

“Special Agent Hotchner, FBI,” he announced as he reached the workspace for the homicide detectives, not wasting any time, “I’m looking for Detective Gordinski.”

“I got this Chuck,” the detective you’d been mentally referring to as _dumbass Mr. Clean_ for the past few years stepped in before the _one_ detective worth his salt could look up from the series of rape-homicides he was investigating.  He turned on the charm, introducing himself, “How you guys doing?  Wally Dennison, CPD.”

“Where’s Agent Morgan?” Hotch requested immediately, looking to get to the bottom of this mess.  There had to be a mistake.  There _had_ to be.

“Detective Gordinski’s in with the suspect now.”

“I need to see him.”  Hotch kept your warning in mind, but still wanted to _try._

“When my partner’s finished talking to him.”  Detective Dennison was already trying to pull an attitude with Agent Hotchner, and based on what you’d heard, as well as the reactions of the rest of the BAU, that wasn’t about to go over well.

“I have your superintendent’s personal cell number, and in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him _so far_.”  Agent Hotchner’s voice was calm and collected, _calculated_.  “I need to see Agent Morgan, now.”

Yeah, you were right.

Gideon waited until Dennison was out of earshot.  “I don’t like them calling him a suspect.”

“Me neither.”

 

************

 

So, Gordinski had sent in a request for a profile, and Gideon’s profile had pointed him _right_ to Derek.  Any attempts to tell Gordinsky that there was a coincidence, that profiles were more useful in the _exclusion_ than _inclusion_ of suspects, met the same fate as a raw egg thrown at a brick wall.  Gordinsky was convinced Morgan was a serial killer, one responsible for a series of teenage boys killed over the last 15 years, one found dead every time he left town from a visit.  Almost most importantly, Morgan had gone around gathering a collection to burry the first victim properly.  While the rest of the neighborhood didn’t visit the boy with the blank tombstone, Morgan _did._   That was the _deciding_ factor for Gordinski, as he’d sent the file to Gideon and the profiler had sent a profile in response.

The unsub was 25 to 35, a black male, he’d always keep tabs on the investigation, and the first victim gave more information than the rest – especially since this was a _guilt-ridden_ offender.

That just…Morgan found that first victim when he was fifteen, chasing down a football that had landed in a vacant lot.  The boy was never identified, he was laid on a mattress but _buried_ under piles of _junk_ , and he was never reported missing.  The last two victims…the last person they were seen with before being found dead was Derek.

Then it came to Derek’s criminal history.

You’d mentioned that Gordinski would have it out for Morgan, you’d never mentioned – _clearly_ – that he had a criminal history.

Not _explicitly_ , at any rate, but Gideon had already asked you to look over the forensic evidence gathered and see if there was anything.  Your training, studies, and experience had already pulled you into courtrooms to testify – on behalf of your mentor – and Gideon was well aware of how much work a decent intern does under the right mentor.  You were half-way through what little was gathered on the third victim, a boy named Damian found only hours ago, when you heard Agent Gideon call you to join him, Dr. Reid, Agent Jareau, and Agent Prentiss as they gathered to discuss the case.

“Is there anything in forensics?” Gideon immediately asked you when you joined them, keeping his voice low as there was no guaranteed private space for the team and there were still members of CPD everywhere.

“Nothing,” you quickly summarized before listing off the _nothing_ CPD had, “No fingerprints, no DNA, not even a shoeprint.”

“And his criminal history?”

“Theft, vandalism, resisting arrest, one count of aggravated battery from a brawl he didn’t start,” you listed off the charges you knew of before looking Gideon in the eye and swearing, “The last charge was almost two years before the first victim.  If I thought it was relevant, I would have brought it up in detail.”

“We’re dealing with a desperate detective here,” Gideon warned, and you were a bit surprised at the fact it felt like he was including _you_ in that warning, but listened as he continued, “Three dead boys, no evidence at all, so he applies the profile to somebody he already suspected.  It’s easy to get tunnel vision that way.”

Dr. Reid began, “One begins to twist facts to suit theories – “

“Instead of theories to suit facts,” you finished.  Your entire job was science, the _raw_ science of people, and your natural ability for empathy or sympathy wasn’t going to change that, but you still felt the need to explain when you saw the looks you were getting.  “I’ve read every Sherlock Holmes story…at least twice…”

“We need to figure out who really killed these boys before they decide to charge Morgan,” Gideon guided the rest of you through the plan, while Hotch acted as Morgan’s attorney for the time being.

“What do you want us to do?” Prentiss asked, waiting for a direction to help.  It was a complicated situation, especially since Morgan was part of the team.

“Last victim was someone Morgan was seen with.  Conveniently, Morgan was already a suspect in the other two,” Gideon laid out the oddity of the entire situation, the underlying plot becoming clear.

“Someone _set him up?_ ” Prentiss clarified what Gideon was already hinting at.  The problem was, as rare as an occasion as that was, it was the only thing that made sense.

“Prentiss, you and Reid talk to his family, learn about him – especially around the time of the first murder,” Gideon began to split up the team, laying out a plan while Hotch was busy in the interrogation room.

“Do we have the address?” Prentiss asked as she and Reid prepared to leave, grabbing her coat as Reid grabbed his cup of coffee and got up from his seat on a nearby desk.  You got up from leaning back against a nearby desk and prepared to leave _with_ them, you were part of Derek’s family and you knew where they’d need to go, but everyone froze when Detective Dennison _jumped up_ to volunteer, like he’d been listening in on the conversation the entire time.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

“I can take you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay – “ Prentiss tried to protest, only seconds before Gideon jumped in.

“No, actually that’s not a bad idea.”

Everyone stopped to look at Gideon before everyone else went along with _whatever_ you were planning.  You could only _reason_ , in your mind, that he was trying to split up Dennison and Goldinski in an attempt to keep things from getting _worse_ than they already were, and without Dennison around it would be easier to see just what Goldinski’s personal beef with Derek was.  You were planning on leaving with them, before Gideon stopped you.

“We need you here.”

“Alright.”


	3. A Risky Decision

# Friendship Set Aflame

### A Risky Decision

 

You knew Derek’s history.  You knew his dad was killed off duty, trying to stop a robbery while Derek was right there.  You knew it wasn’t long until Derek got into trouble, a ten-year-old running _errands_ for money, and people looked at Derek like he was one of them.  He got in a fight with a few guys, primarily _Rodney_ , and Rodney needed stitches.  That was the first time Gordinski arrested Derek, and the detective was only a beat cop at the time, but he was determined to believe that Derek was involved in _whatever_ happened in the neighborhood ever since.

Carl Buford, the man running the Upward Youth Center, and everything changed.  His record was expunged, he got into Northwestern Law on an athletic scholarship for football, blew out his knee and never played football again, graduated with honors.  You knew all of that.  You could have _told_ them, so why in the _hell_ did Agents Gideon and Hotchner drag you back to the interrogation room while Agent Jareau contacted Garcia – _baby girl_ according to Derek – to look into all of that.

You were _hoping_ to at least _talk_ to the infamous Penelope Garcia, but it looked like that wasn’t about to be an option for you.

“You want me to _what?”_  You couldn’t help but look at the agents like they’d _lost their fucking minds._

There was no other explanation for it.

“You know more about Morgan than any of us, and he’s under the impression you’d make a good profiler – “ Agent Hotchner began to try and convince you into doing this, but that didn’t mean you thought it was any less _crazy._

“I’m not even an _agent_ , let alone a _trained profiler_.  Even ignoring my personal relationship with Derek, this is _insane_.”

“Just tell us if anything is out of the ordinary for him.  If anything seems out of the ordinary, just bring it up,” Gideon bridged the gap between you and Hotch, “You have subconsciously become aware of Morgan’s patterns and behaviors, better than we do, and if we’re going to help him we need to know what he isn’t telling us.”

“Fine,” you huffed turning your head to look into the interrogation room, where Derek was sitting on the floor and looking at the photographs of the last victim, guilt wracking him.

 

************

 

You stayed back, just at the edge of the hallway, as you spotted Carl Buford in the detectives’ bullpen.  He’d brought Damian Walters’ mother to see Gordinski, just like he had with the last victim.  He’d been keeping tabs on the investigation…even found a way to slip in an accusation that Morgan could be _manipulative_ as he spoke to Agents Gideon, Hotchner, and Jareau.  You turned and walked further down the hall, back to the interrogation room.  Derek never talked about Buford, never talked _to_ the man despite his ritual of visiting the youth center every time he was in Chicago.

“Wait, wait,” you caught Hotch as he rushed back to the interrogation room, “You’re going to hit the same brick wall Gideon did when he tried to talk to Derek.  _Harder_ if you go in there demanding answers, like you’re about to.  Just let me talk to him.”

“Miss Castillo – “

“I get it, it’s unorthodox and I’m just barely allowed to stick around after looking over the forensic evidence, and dealing with close-minded dumbasses like Gordinski and Dennison only make it worse,” you tried to convince Agent Hotchner that this was the right move, “But if there’s a reason Buford would have it out for him now, Derek isn’t about to tell just anyone.  _I’ll_ be lucky to get an explanation, but I’ll get more than you can.”

You were right.  You were absolutely right about that, and there wasn’t much time left.  Especially since Buford knew the FBI was investigating and knew that Morgan _didn’t_ do this.

“I’ll have to be in there with you.”

You nodded, stepping inside as Hotch held the door open for you before following you inside.  You placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he was slumped over with his head buried in his arms as he sat at the table with his back to the door and one-way window.  He looked up and immediately brought you in for an exhausted half-hug, a few walls falling as he felt more comfortable with _someone_ in his family around, but Hotch was still there and…

There were just things that Morgan didn’t want everyone to know.

“Derek, why don’t you talk to Carl Buford anymore?”  You asked the question gently, especially since Morgan was suffering from _cabin fever_ on top of everything else.  He turned on the ball of his foot and snapped his attention to you.

“ _What?”_

“You don’t talk to him, you don’t talk _about_ him, he was just here, and not only has he been keeping tabs on the investigation but he’s the one that names you as the last person to see Damian alive,” you listed off the oddities surrounding the man behind the Upward Youth Center.  Morgan shot up from his seat and continued pacing, rubbing his face and head with both hands as he started to pace around, but you still continued, _gently._  “After everything, it would make sense for you to remain close to him, but you can barely _look_ at him and he’s talking about you like you charm people into thinking you’re not a murderer.”

“Don’t push this, [Y/N].  Don’t you push this too.”

“I _have_ to, because the alternative is you going to prison for three murders,” you snapped, putting your foot down, “You used to trust people, Derek, you used to have _faith,_ and you lost your ability to see the good in everyone _long_ before you even left for _college._   Now, that has something to do with Buford, and Buford is the reason you’re here, the only thing we _don’t_ know is _why.”_

He wasn’t going to talk.  Mouth firmly shut, but eyes broken and pleading with you _not to press this._   Just, for the love of god, _let it be._   Hotch made his way back to the door, and you followed – you weren’t allowed in there without supervision – and stopped with your hand on the doorknob, the door _almost_ shut, as Hotch made his way down the hall to update Gideon.  You swung the door back open and snapped, “Come on.”

“What?”

“You think I’m stupid?” you immediately countered.  You’d figured it out.  You’d figured it out before you even stepped foot into that interrogation room with Hotch, but you also knew that nobody was going to believe it unless Buford said it himself.  The wheels…the _cogs_ in your mind were spinning, faster than Derek could ever keep up with, and he knew that.  You were clever, _had_ to be growing up, and your intelligence and studies had only made you better at playing people like it was just a game.  “We don’t have long until they notice you’re missing, and you need a ride if you’re gonna make it to the Youth Center.”

Derek snatched his jacket, following you out of the interrogation room and through the back door down the hall as you led him to your rental car parked just down the street.  You risked driving down a few blocks before parking your rental and scouted ahead before waving Derek to follow as the entirety of CPD was looking for him.

“You know, if CPD finds us before my team, you’re gonna be in just as much trouble,” Morgan pointed out as the two of you neared the fenced yard, tucked behind the youth center and away from the public streets, where Buford’s current star quarterback was practicing on his own.

You shrugged, hands tucked in your sweater pockets as you stopped, staying back because it wasn’t _your_ battle to fight but close enough to be there if needed.  “I’m not too worried.  Your team seems pretty smart, and Goldinski’s a dumbass.”

“Besides,” you added as you pulled your cell out of your pocket and held it up, “Agent Jareau gave me her cell in case I needed to reach anyone, figured I’d give her a call.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not my fight, but I’ll be in your corner if you need me.”

 

************

 

You had accurately warned the team of what to expect inside the precinct, you had given information you deemed necessary as it became prudent.  In private, you openly voiced your opinion that Hotch’s request that you use what you knew to build at least a _working_ profile of Morgan to try and figure out what he was hiding.  You also figured out the unsub and the _team_ in time to break Morgan out, slip past patrols, and to the youth center where you called JJ. 

Then there was how you broke Morgan out – and the fact you’d done it in the first place.  It meant you were clever, clever enough to formulate such a plan on the _fly_ , but even if you’d made a calculated decision it was _reckless_ , but it was doubtless Morgan would have done it on his own once he knew who was framing him.  Having you there would help ensure he wouldn’t be caught, soften the blow, and guarantee the BAU would get there either before or _with_ the local detectives.

Hiring you would be risky, you weren’t about to start _anything_ until you finished your doctorate meaning your first day wouldn’t be for the greater part of a _year_ , and you clearly weren’t above breaking rules for the best outcome – even if it put your ass out on the line.

“Miss Castillo, this is Agent Hotchner,” he’d waited until after you answered your phone to tell you just who was calling, “We have room for another profiler on the team, and I was calling to see if you were interested.”


	4. Dropped Into A Recovery Zone

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Dropped Into A Recovery Zone

 

This was an… _awkward_ time for you to be starting.  Section Chief Strauss had just spent a _lot_ of time and energy trying to put an end to the team to the point of putting Hotch in a position he either _directly_ challenged a superior to protect or he put the entire _existence_ of the BAU at risk, Prentiss had put in for a transfer and planned on changing her _entire_ career to avoid being used as a puppet, Gideon just _left_ with nothing but a letter addressed to Reid…

Then there _you_ were.  The new kid.  Promoted right out of the academy at…almost 25-years-old.  The majority of your education being in anthropology – the study of humans – and in the forensics and sciences behind the scenes of an investigation.  All dumped onto the team…right after disaster just about ripped the entire team apart.

It was hardly your first day, though it was still your first week and Garcia still wanted to do… _something_ to welcome you onto the team.  You’d told her it wasn’t necessary, that it could wait, she still wanted to do… _something._

You hadn’t changed _much_ in the months since you’d last seen the entire team, having seen Derek a few times since then, but some.  Your thick chocolate-brown hair was a bit longer, you left it to fall in waves to your mid-back instead of bothering with straightening it anymore.  The golden tint to your russet-brown eyes was still there, bringing more attention to your wide eyes you rarely bothered decorating with more than black liner and mascara, and the golden undertones of your tanned skin still had a glow even under the lighting of the halls that lacked the multitude of windows the BAU had, and you still painted your thick pillowy lips the same soft shade of pink you’d grown fond of in grad school.  You’d pull out another color if the need arose, you’d fiddle with your hair or bother with eye shadow if need be, but on the _daily_ basis there just wasn’t a need.

You only knew bits and pieces of the story, the important bits, but you couldn’t say you could offer anything…helpful.  It all came down to the same thing.

This job is emotionally taxing, and after things got personal Gideon couldn’t stand to do it anymore.  He needed out, so he left.  Maybe not in the best way, but he did.

It sounds morbid but…you were almost grateful for JJ calling you into the round-table room.

“Okay, we have four victims in Oregon,” JJ started as she handed copies of the case file to everyone, Hotch following close behind her as he stepped around to the table, “Two male, two female – “

“I got this,” Hotch cut in as he stepped in front of the two case boards already set up with crime scene photographs and a map of the local area surrounding the case, “I know that we’ve all been wondering what this was all about and uh…you know I’ve known Jason for many years and I can tell you…I have no idea.  But it doesn’t even matter.  What matters is we’re here, and we’re gonna continue.”

There was a quiet pause for a brief moment, the solemn mood settling into a focus on the case, everyone else pushing the questions that still lingered to the backs of their minds.

“Portland field office uncovered a mass grave with three bodies killed six months ago,” Hotch brought up a map of the area onto the screen, centering on where the bodies had been found before flipping to images of the burial site, “Nearby they found another body.  Causes of death range from burning alive, to asphyxiation.  No sexual assault.”

“Well, the torture’s clearly sadistic,” Morgan started as he put down his mug of coffee, sitting forward and leaning against the table.

“The lack of sexual preferences is gonna make it hard to tell if the unsub is male or female,” Reid warned the rest of you, statistics and figures running through his mind.

“Typically, female serial killers stick to the same M.O., this guy is all over the place,” Prentiss countered, narrowing the chances that the unsub was a female.

“But _why_.  Even unorganized sadistic killers and _professional_ killers have a set pattern or signature,” you brought out the underlying question about the wide range of the causes of death.  Everybody had a pattern, even the insane, so what was the pattern _here?_

“Most recent victim is Jenny Wittman,” Hotch continued, “Asphyxiated, discovered yesterday.”

“How long was she missing?” Reid asked to try and establish a pattern, something that would speak to how long the unsub had the victim before they were killed.

“She was never reported missing,” Hotch answered as he moved to join the rest of you at the table, not taking a seat as the rest of you looked over the file, gazes at least flicking up to Hotch as a piece of the puzzle manifested itself.

“Where _any_ of them reported missing?” you questioned, taking a break from looking over the forensic and coroner’s reports to see if you could spot something you could pull from using your own experience.

“Only one.”

“One of _four?”_   It was hardly the first case he’d dealt with that involved so few being reported missing, but three of the victims had been dead for six months.  That just struck Reid as _odd._

“Rick Holland was reported missing nine months ago, but the search was called off,” JJ explained as a copy of the missing person’s flyer was brought up onto the screen.

“Family discovered his car at the train station, but more importantly, they received emails from him saying that he needed time to figure things out.”  Hotch finished, pacing closer to the screen as the four of you caught up with what he and JJ already knew about the case.

“And his family _bought_ that?” Morgan immediately raised his brow at that, unbelieving that _anyone_ would believe something like that.  Believe it enough to call off a search.

“Well,” Hotch offered a defense for the family, “I guess the alternative was too hard to accept.”

“Reaching out…could be a sign of remorse,” Reid offered a potential fit for the emails.

“This many people dead, with one missing person’s that was retracted?” you countered, briefly raising one neatly groomed brow, thick like the rest of your hair, as you offered a counterargument with your own suggestion, “The unsub’s a sadist, it’s more likely he’s covering his tracks.”

“Well, it’s working,” Morgan agreed as he kept looking over the additional photos of the burial site.

“So,” Prentiss got up from her seat, pointing to the photos pinned to the case boards – a temporary arrangement as you’d all be taking off for Portland later that day – and focused on what _could_ be a pattern forming, “Three victims he buried in one grave, and then only Jenny Wittman in the other.”

“You thinking it’s a pattern”

Prentiss turned back to Morgan when he asked the question and shrugged, openly admitting, “Uh, it’s hard to tell.”

“If it is, it’s one down…” Hotch brought up the most concerning part of what could be a forming pattern, “Two to go…”

 

************

 

As soon as you were free to get up and move around the jet, Hotch called the rest of you to go over what Portland already found in closer detail only _seconds_ after Reid got up for more coffee.  You couldn’t say you knew him _well_ , but you doubted he’d been sleeping all that much.  As JJ got up to hand the rest of you files on the case, reciting the basics as she did so, you followed to join Prentiss on the couch while Derek got up from his own seat to lean against the back of Hotch’s seat at the larger table in the cabin.

“That sounds like three different M.O.s,” Prentiss brought up the oddity of the wide differences in the causes of death, trying to find some kind of explanation.

“Uh, Gary Taylor, the Phantom Sniper, was all over the map, just like this guy” Reid brought up another serial killer who had displayed the same type of range, presenting a possible theory to why this unsub was doing the same while balancing his open file on the back of the seat he’d vacated, “He changed his M.O. as his need to control the situation changed.”

“True, but bits of Taylor’s M.O. still remained the same, he tried to keep things similar as much as he could,” you added a smaller detail, before using what Reid had said as a sounding board, “Maybe what he’s changing is in response to the victim, a way to _keep_ control once he has it.”

“What about the fresh grave?” Hotch added the latest victim into the mix of things.

“Female, 28, dead roughly 48 hours,” JJ briefed the rest of you on the basics, “She was asphyxiated.”

“It’s a good thing this guy’s dump site has been compromised,” Morgan brought up the one bright side in all of this.

“As soon as the unsub knows that, he may feel pressure that we’re onto him,” Prentiss looked up from her file in agreement, “It could push him to make a mistake.”

Your attention was grabbed by beeping from the open laptop on the table.

_“Psst.  Hey, you.”_

Reid looked up from reading through the file, looking around for the source of the voice before Garcia took pity on him.  _“Uh, down here.”_

Reid let out half a chuckle in his own embarrassment, moving the laptop to face everyone else as he returned to his seat at the table, “I knew that.”

 _“Good thing you’re handsome, doctor,”_ Garcia teased lovingly before she filled all of you in on what she had found on her end as you all crowded together to talk with Garcia over the video chat, _“Attention team members – this killer guy continues to stoop to an all-time low of lows by posing as his victims.  He’s also manipulated two of the families into thinking that everything was okay, even after they were reported missing.  One of the fake emails was from their daughter.  She said she met this guy and was taking him to her favorite place, Australia, for a couple of weeks.  Family contacted the Australian authorities after too much time had passed.”_

“This guy sure knows a lot of personal information about his victims,” Morgan pulled on the oddity that the unsub would know the victim’s _favorite place._   That was information a friend or family member would have, not a _stranger._

“How did he get access to their email accounts?”  Prentiss was hoping maybe there was a way Garcia could track him down, or at least narrow down the list of potential suspects from _all_ of Portland to _some_ of Portland.

 _“Screen name was the same, but the domain was different.  The families never noticed.”_   Garcia gave one final farewell before hanging up and digging for more information.  _“When I find more pieces of the puzzle I’ll let you know, Garcia out.”_

“This guy’s creative,” Hotch surmised from the latest batch of information, “Let’s see the details one more time, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

 

************

 

Special Agent Calvert had met all of you at the field office for a brief introduction before everyone got to work.  He was waiting for Jenny Wittman’s family to arrive, to speak with them, Prentiss and JJ stayed at the field office to work victimology after setting up, and you left with the guys to look at Jenny Wittman’s apartment and try to get some clues into her own profile.  You paused when you saw the elevator of her apartment building, Reid had just told the rest of you Wittman’s apartment was on the fourth floor…

You’d been in a mine-shaft elevator before.

You knew a death trap when you saw one.

Your heeled ankle-high black boots were hardly uncomfortable, and while the last time you’d had any real exercise was before you’d quit dance after high school, you figured four flights of stairs wouldn’t kill you.

Hotch had the same idea.

“You coming?” Morgan asked you after Hotch made his way to the stairs on the other end of the lobby.

“That thing is death on a pully system,” you gave them one chance to step out and follow you.  If they weren’t going to take it, there was no convincing them.

“What, you scared?” Morgan teased, still holding the door open for you, “Come on, it’s an elevator not a death trap.”

“I’ll let Hotch know you said that when we’re scraping your bodies off the floor,” you turned on the ball of your foot and leaving with that, making your own way to the stairs and catch up with Hotch, answering his questioning look with, “Dying in an elevator on my first day would be a pretty shitty way to go.”

Hotch couldn’t help but let out a little breath of amusement, crooked smile as he shook his head and the two of you climbed the stairs in relative quiet.  Not _uncomfortable_ , just quiet…until you actually reached the fourth floor.  The two of you had split up to find Wittman’s apartment, and you reached a halt when you heard the emergency bell on the elevator ringing, taking a few steps back and waiting a beat until you just _faintly_ heard Morgan yelling for Hotch through the door.

“Hotch!” you called down the hall, waiting for him to meet up with you as you figured it would be a bad idea to yell down the hall that two FBI agents got themselves stuck in an elevator and were screaming for help.  Hotch just reached you as the door to the elevator opened and you stepped aside as Morgan _threw_ himself out and just about crashed into the opposite wall.  Reid was still shaking, steps slow like he was still in shock.

“Was that the alarm?” Hotch recalled the bell he heard from down the hall, reminiscent of a _school_ bell to be honest, “Are you guys okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Reid answered between deep breaths, just barely off the elevator before he had to pause completely.  Hotch stepped past the rest of you, leading the way to Wittman’s apartment as the rest of you paused for a moment.

“Don’t you even.”  Derek recognized that look on your face, but you feigned innocence.

“What?  I’m just as surprised as you guys.  I mean, come on, it’s an elevator not a death trap.”

_You little shit._


	5. Murder By Fear

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Murder By Fear

 

Jenny Wittman rarely left her apartment, she had no messages on her answering machine, moved into her apartment only two months earlier, and was so uncomfortable in tight spaces she wouldn’t even use her standing shower – opting to use her bathtub while the shower was used as a storage space.  That fit what you’d already found from the other victims, the unsub preyed on people new to the city with no strong social ties. 

None of the victims had connections to each other either.  They all came from different backgrounds, different jobs, different education levels…the only constant was the victims were new to Portland and didn’t even have so much as a roommate in their lives.  Agent Calvert was new to the area, so JJ got a good list of places the unsub might have looked for victims, and after presenting the profile to the rest of the locals you’d have to canvass the neighborhood.

“We know this guy’s been using Wildwood Trail as his personal gravesite for six months,” Morgan started as he slowly paced around the room, everyone involve in the investigation was gathered into the meeting room to take notes on what to look for, “That site’s been blown for him now, which means that he’s been forced to change part of his M.O.”

“Which won’t be easy for somebody who thrives on being in control,” Hotch warned from his seat along the side of the gathering.  “The reason that he’s gotten away with these first three murders is that he’s been meticulous at every stage, from how he chooses his victims to their torture and their burial.”

“To us, his victims appear to be nonspecific.”  Prentiss stood a few steps behind Hotch, arms crossed as she filled everyone else in on what had been gathered in terms of victimology.  “Other than being new to Portland, all they seem to have shared was a torturous death.”

“Despite that, this unsub still seems to be picking these victims for a specific reason,” you sat on the edge of the long table in the meeting room, not too far from where JJ was sitting at the table, your sweater shed and leaving you in a sleeveless blouse decorated in a pastel watercolor of blue and violet flowers not tucked into your fitted black pants.  “This is exhibited by the fact he takes the time to learn extensive details about the victims.  He felt comfortable telling one victim’s family that she had gone to Australia because he knew it was her favorite place to go.  He further uses these details to lead the victims’ families to believe nothing is wrong.”

“The tortures lack a sexual component, which is incredibly rare, I think it’s more about – not necessarily about exerting power, but more like overcompensating for a lack of it,” Reid brought up the suspected driving force behind this particular unsub, leaning back against the wall between the meeting room and bullpen.  His satchel was still slung over his shoulder, like he was about to take off the _second_ the meeting was over.

“This guy _craves_ control,” Morgan leaned against the other side of the table, half sitting on it, “He’s coming from a place of weakness, trying to demonstrate strength.  Now, we see this a lot in unsubs who have been abused.”

“The lack of sexual assault could be as simple as the fact that he’s impotent.”  Hotch stood up from his seat, stepping closer to the case boards and turning to face the gathering.  “Something that he’s trying to hide.”

“A man this obsessed with control most likely feels powerless in his everyday life.  So, he would crave stability, security.  He’s most likely married,” Prentiss narrowed down the field of potential suspects, crossing off anyone that wouldn’t have some kind of stable home life surrounded by others.

“If he is impotent, he most likely adopted children to keep up appearances.  They’d also add to his sense of stability, of a home life, something to fall back on,” you added, gesturing a bit before folding your hands in your lap as Reid continued the profile.

“Yeah, and someone this methodical has every moment planned.  If he is captured, he’d most likely take his own life rather than any sort of control.”

“The victims lack of defensive wounds suggest that they willingly put themselves in danger,” Morgan put in a piece of the unsub’s M.O., how he learned so much about his victims and why the victims didn’t fight back, “So, someone of authority or otherwise easily trusted put them up to this.”

“He’s calculating, and he’s intelligent, and…we’re going to have to do something that he’s not expecting,” Hotch warned the agents gathered to hear the profile, though Agent Calvert was the one to ask.

“Like what?”

“Like warn his potential victims.”

 

************

 

There were an influx of calls during JJ’s press conference, that was to be expected, and would likely continue as the message was repeated throughout the daily news.  Canvassing the neighborhoods had to wait so everybody could stick around and field calls, one of which was a landlady calling about her missing tenant.  He was more predictable than she was, stuck to a practiced routine, and was new to the city.

His name was Patrick Walker, and a jogger found him washed up on a riverbank, dead.

Prentiss had been the one that took the call, and wanted to go to the dump site with Morgan that morning.  The rest of you waited in the meeting room, trying to fill in the missing pieces of the profile.  By the time they called, you’d already shoved the sleeves of your fitted white pullover up to your elbows and pulled your cell out of the back pocket of your dark skinny jeans before sitting on the table with your feet perched on the edge of a nearby chair.

 _“Hey, that landlady Prentiss spoke to was right to be worried, we just found Patrick walker dead in a river,”_ Morgan filled the rest of you in on what they’d found at the new dump site, he and Prentiss talking over speaker phone on their end while the rest of you listened through the conference phone on the table.

_“And it was exactly what you predicted.  He found a new place to dump the body.”_

“I think it’s someone who was afraid of drowning,” Reid brought up the idea he’d been working on but had nothing really _solid_ to work with, no real reason to suspect it until now.  “It hit me when Morgan freaked out when we were stuck in the elevator – “

_“You got stuck in an elevator?”_

“You mean the death trap on a pully-system?” you _immediately_ reminded both Reid and Derek that you’d _told them_ , and if they’d just _listened_ to you…

_“ **I** freaked out?”_

“It’s not important, here’s what is,” Reid immediately cut off any further discussion about the incident, “If you look at the M.O.s of the victims, what do they all have in common?”

“We can classify them all as anxiety disorders,” you answered, moving things along as JJ slipped past to add Patrick Walker to the timeline on the board.  “Add someone locked in a dark room, and we’ve got all the heavy hitters.”

“ _Exactly_ , it’s right out of _The Diagnostics and Statistical Manual,_ it lists five subtypes of phobias.”  Reid didn’t _normally_ get an answer when he posed a question to the team like that, normally a brief few seconds of silence before he continued.  It was actually…it was kind of nice having someone that jumped in with the answer, that kept up with him.

It was… _fun_ even…all things considered.

Oh, god no.  That was horrible.  Not that you…but the job…you were talking about how five people were murdered.

“Most of these are environmental _and_ situational,” Hotch chimed in as the last piece of the M.O. and victimology fit into place.

“Exactly.”

“So, it’s all about fear,” Hotch turned away from the rest of you to look back at the board, “These people are being killed by their fears.”

 

************

 

“You know, you’re doing pretty good,” Derek brought up as the two of you walked down the street, canvassing places Patrick Walker might have went that could offer a place for the unsub to find him.

“For the guy that passed my name to Hotch, you sound disturbingly surprised,” you teased as the two of you stopped and waited for the green light to cross the street.

“Yeah, but things have been…kind of a mess since then, and you got dropped in the middle of a recovery zone, but you’re still doing good,” he clarified, watching for the signal before looking down at you with a crooked smile, proud of you and happy his risk had seemingly turned out for the best.  “Even if you’re a wiseass.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t a dumbass.”  You didn’t miss a beat, leaving Derek behind for just a second as you crossed the street as the light switched to green and Derek just gave you a jokingly affronted look for a second before quickly catching up with a few steps.

“Alright, you’re so smart, where should we go next?”

“Meet up with Prentiss and Reid at the laundromat and hope they found something because your suggestions have been getting us nowhere.”

 

************

 

_Don’t live in fear anymore_

A flyer had been left up at local laundromats, coffee shops, inviting people to participate in a _controlled research project_ where they – the patients – were paid $100 for two sessions.  To make things worse, there were flyers dating back to summer the year before, leading Hotch to send you and Prentiss back to the trail with Agent Calvert and a forensic team.

“They’re not going to be buried directly next to the trail,” you instructed as you lead the team at the trail through the forest, sleeves shoved up to your elbows as you tied your hair into a ponytail before pulling a pair of blue latex gloves out of your pocket, “He’s organized, sticks to a pattern, and left the last victim in the river – start by splitting up the riverbank up into sections.  If there are graves a year old, it’s possible activity under the surface led parts to fall into the river during the decomposition process, so we need people combing through the river starting at the shoreline and moving further in.  Anyone on the dig team needs to be careful with the shovels, dig too deep or too hard and you’ll damage the remains.  If you feel you’re getting close to something, use a smaller shovel or a brush.”

It was one thing to know your studies, your educational training, gave you a history and expertise in situations like these.  It was something completely different to actually _see_ it.  It wasn’t the first time Prentiss had dealt with a case like this, digging up an unknown amount of mass graves that dated back a year at _least_ , but it was the first time she’d worked with a Forensic Anthropologist.  It’s not like there were a _lot_ , and they tended to be spread thin between cases that urgently needed their expertise, overseas digs led by international organizations looking to identify victims or war or genocide, and archeological studies on top of everything else.

You were _deep_ in leading the forensics crew deployed to the dig site, between giving them instructions and looking over any seriously maimed or highly decomposed bodies to get things started for the medical examiners that were going to be busy just trying to identify everyone let alone finding causes of death.  To top things off, there was absolutely no guarantee of a missing persons report to match any of the bodies to.

Eight graves and twelve bodies.

You couldn’t stay.  Not when there was a killer still on the loose, and certainly not when there was a _lead_.


	6. All Things Considered...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the Caltech – MIT rivalry has kind of died down over the years, the latest prank being in 2014 by Caltech in an attempt to rekindle the relationship that didn’t go all that well. The rivalry died down after a sort of ‘team building exercise’ in 2011 that I’ll explain below. Since it’s not actually 2011 in the CM universe until late season 6/early season 7 (which started September 2011 exactly), the rivalry is gonna be kind of a thing.
> 
> Now, as for the team-building exercise. So, in September 2010 MIT tried to put a TARDIS on the roof of Baxter Hall at Caltech but forgot to tell Caltech Administration about the prank so they got busted by security – US schools are pretty cool about competitive pranks as long as they’re harmless. Anywho, while the TARDIS was first on the roof of the MIT Great Dome in August 2010 and the attempt to return it to Caltech failed, the two schools actually worked together to move it to Berkeley and later Stanford.
> 
> The entire history – summarized – can be read by following the link below.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caltech%E2%80%93MIT_rivalry
> 
> You can’t tell me Spence isn’t at least a little judgmental of other schools or wouldn’t take part in a prank-war between two schools of technically-minded nerds. He ‘tutted’ at the idea of Henry going to Yale and we’ve all seen how far he’ll go for a prank war just between him and Morgan.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### All Things Considered

 

_The Goodman Institute_

It was the ‘group’ that put up the flyers around town.  The website _looked_ legit, advertised itself as the leading researcher of behavioral therapy and backed that up with well-written articles, but Garcia did some digging an found that it didn’t even exist.  There were no tax records, business license, no evidence it was actually _real_.  According to the website, it was run by a Dr. Barry Goodman – _renowned for curing fears and phobias._

Then there was the online questionnaire, one he used to pick the specific type of victim he was looking for.

Once Garcia got that information for Derek, you and Prentiss were called back to the field office and left the dump site behind to gather with the rest of the team.

When the two of you returned with Calvert, the rest of the team was already pouring over printouts of the website lying on the table or pinned to a dry-erase easel that had been added on top of the two case boards already in use.

“Look at this, guys,” Reid brought up as he circled a bit of the page he’d already read through and pinned to the easel, “He calls them phobias instead of anxiety disorders.”

“Yeah, either this guy is an amateur or he studied psychology in the eighties,” Prentiss voiced the conclusion everyone had come to after going over the fake article and short descriptions of studies that willed the website in the attempt to make the institute look _real._

“His phrasing of the questions are clinical, this guy’s a professional,” Morgan added as he lowered the page he was reading, standing at one end of the table as he just kept from pacing in the crowded meeting room.

“Well, he’s able to pick the perfect victims.”  From his seat at the head of the table, Hotch started listing off a few of the questions the unsub used to find his victims.  “ _Are you close to your family?  Easy making friends?_ Just answer yes and you’re spared the torture.”

“We already know he’s calculated, makes sense he’d be efficient too,” you mused as you continued sifting through a few pages of the printouts in your hand, standing between the table and the wall of windows between the room and the bullpen.

“We figured out how he chooses his victims, but how does that get us his real name?”  Calvert’s question was a good one, you’d all just assumed the unsub wasn’t using his real name.  He was too smart for that.

“All right, let’s review,” Hotch called for the rest of you to drop the pages you were looking over and regroup, “JJ, can you get Garcia?”

As JJ dialed Garcia’s office number on the conference phone, you dropped the papers in hand back onto the desk, taking a seat at the table as Morgan started the review, taking his own seat.  “I think this guy’s a real psychiatrist.”

“Also afraid of being alone, so he’s most likely married,” Prentiss added, pen still in hand, seated at the other side of the table as she’d began pouring over the pages that had been printed out before the two of you returned to the office.

“May have adopted children,” Reid added thoughtfully as he stepped around the table, between you and Calvert, who had to wonder why the unsub would have adopted children.

“Why?”

“The lack of sexual component means he’s most likely impotent,” you answered just as Garcia clicked onto the line, the phone only ringing for a second before she answered.

 _“Hey guys.”_   You faintly heard typing on the other end of the line as Garcia was already working on digging your unsub out of the woodwork.

“Also, if he’s desperate for a sense of community he’d definitely have kids,” Reid further explained as he took the last seat, between you and Calvert.

  _“Okay, I’m crossing Portland doctors with adoptions.”_

“And given the obsession to control his victims with torture, he might have been abused,” Hotch gave Garcia more information to further narrow the field.

_“Okay, juvenile records are gonna be sealed, so you gotta give me a minute.”_

“He uses antiquated terms like _phobias_ , so he’s most likely in his forties,” Prentiss added, causing a realization to hit you.

“If we’re looking for someone in his forties, he’s from a generation where _abuse_ was commonly considered _discipline_.  Bets are nothing was reported,” you were the bearer of that bad news, striking down something that could have otherwise helped narrow things down.  “It still affects him, so he probably does work with abused kids, charity organizations or volunteer work.  Things like that.”

_“And…the creep of the moment award goes to…One 43-year-old Dr. Stanley Howard, psychiatrist.”_

“This guy was killing his own patients?” Calvert looked to the rest of you, looking for some kind of confirmation or explanation why nobody caught that before.

“No, Stan Howard’s smarter than that.  That’s why he created Goodman and the research ruse.”  Hotch’s answer didn’t exactly quell Calvert’s discomfort, just replaced the cause of it.

_“Married to Jane Howard, has one eight-year-old daughter Jessica…he started a center for abused kids.”_

“Probably because he could relate.”

 _“One good deed’s not fortifying his karma sufficiently,”_ Garcia retorted as she continued pulling up everything she could find on Stanley Howard, _“Looks like his practice shut down last year.”_

“Right about the time the killings started?” Hotch’s suspicion was confirmed as Garcia continued on, filling you in on what she’d found.

 _“He still has a lease on his old office building.  City permits were pulled due to renovation, but what do you know?  They’ve been delayed.  Yikes!”_   Garcia’s exclamation caused the rest of you to snap your attention towards the conference phone, listening and waiting for her to continue.  _“His bank records show a seriously depleted savings account.”_

“So, he’s keeping up appearances – where’s the building?”  Hotch was already bracing to get up and head to the building.

_“427 Cedars Avenue.”_

 

************

 

You left with JJ and Prentiss to talk to Howard’s wife, while the guys grabbed vests and made their way to the office building.  It was a pretty straightforward approach, the three of you would seem less threatening and lead Jane Howard to start talking faster.  Little Jessica answered the door shyly, her mother pulling her away and reprimanding her for opening the door for strangers.  It was hardly abusive, but if her bristly attitude towards the three of you – even after introducing yourselves as FBI agents – was any indication, this was likely the _helpless situation_ Stanley Howard found himself in.

“Where is your husband?” Prentiss began the line of questioning, JJ kept Jessica busy with coloring in the dining room as you and Prentiss spoke with Jane in the living room.

“He’s with a patient.”  Jane didn’t sit down, standing between the two of you and the entryway, naturally defensive.

“No,” you replied, tone gentle to prevent Jane from snapping at the two of you, “His license is expired, and he closed his practice a year ago.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ Jane immediately questioned the two of you, her control of her husband slipping through her grasp and she crossed her arms defensively.  “No, that’s not possible.  He wouldn’t do something like that without talking to me first.

“He referred his patients to other doctors,” Prentiss presented the rest of the evidence, proof that Stanley Howard had closed his practice and quit psychiatry.

“What is going on?”

You and Prentiss shared a quiet look before leading Jane to take a seat before asking a question that never seemed to get any easier.  “Has your husband acting strangely lately?”

“Well…he’s had some issues since his mother died last year, but…” Jane insisted as she took a seat herself, trying to make sense and convince herself this wasn’t real.  That it was some kind of mistake.  “I mean, he refused to go to her funeral, but they were never close.”

Then she said something that caused you to get up and make your way to the hall to call Hotch.

“Stan always said it was because of her he went into psychiatry.”

You waited a ring or two before Hotch answered his cell, overhearing bits and pieces of the conversation of the background.  They were at the lot, it sounded like, but there was no _building._

_“Hey, Castillo, we’re at the office.  The building’s gone.”_

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?”  That news brushed right off your back as you touched base with Hotch and caught him up to speed on what you’d discovered so far.  “We’ll keep talking to the wife, see if she knows where he is”

_“All right.”_

“What do you mean it’s _gone_?”  Jane wasn’t taking any of the news well.  You couldn’t exactly _blame_ her, but she wasn’t exactly what you’d call _cooperative_ either.

“We need to figure out where Stan’s been going every day,” Prentiss tried to ask politely, but that wasn’t working.  Jane eyed the two of you for a long moment, watching out the corner of her eye, before averting her gaze once again.

“I don’t know.”

There was no time for this, and you couldn’t exactly say you _cared_ that Jane was a typical alpha female unfamiliar with being out of control.  There was _no_ telling if Howard had another victim, he knew the FBI was onto him, and his calculated nature created reason to believe he might lead you onto a lengthy chase if his obsession didn’t make him stay still.

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Howard?”

Prentiss kept her own reaction to herself, that was a tone she hadn’t heard from you before.  Granted, while she met you _months_ ago, she didn’t really know you that well, but there was something in your voice that was…hypnotic?  Smooth, calming, and difficult to deny.  It wasn’t _manipulative_ , not really, but it was almost perfectly calculated to convince someone to let their guard down.

“My family has commercial property downtown.  I – maybe…”

 

************

 

You remained at the Howard household with Prentiss and JJ, the later remaining with Jessica as the rest of you dealt with the darker matter at hand.  It was a tense silence, waiting for either a call from the others or waiting for Stanley Howard to return.  After getting the call, learning that Howard managed to climb to the roof and jump before they could get to him, you had the unfortunate task of informing both Jane and Jessica that he was dead.

Then there was the last victim, she was in the middle of a _meeting_ with Howard when they arrived to apprehend him, which led to the question _where was she?_

As the three of you left the house quietly, you waited for the call, for the guys to meet up with you at the office and give the news –

“We got her.  Missy is in the hospital, but she’ll be okay.”

Not bad for a first case, everyone was pretty happy with the result as you all packed up the jet and took off for home.  Exhausted, as evidenced by the fact JJ and Prentiss _passed out_ as soon as they found a place to sit, but happy.

“You did really good – “ Reid immediately caught himself when you looked up at him from digging through your go-bag for your mp3 player and headphones, his eyes wide as he seemed visibly shocked by what he’d said and started to backpedal, “Not that I didn’t think you’d do well – I honestly didn’t know what to – uh – Prentiss said everything at the burial site went smoothly and that you got Mrs. Howard to tell us where her husband was.  Not that I wasn’t impressed, because I was – am – but not because – “

_Jesus Christ, shut your damn mouth you rambling lunatic!_

Reid just wanted to slam his head into the nearby wall, kicking himself for once again putting his foot in his mouth.  All he wanted to do was congratulate you on a job well done, strike up a conversation, and then ask you a few questions about your training as a Forensic Anthropologist.  Things he couldn’t find answers to.  Instead, he made a mess of things.

“Okay, okay.  As amusing as this is to watch, I think you’ve suffered enough,” you cut in, all giggles and smiles, refraining from putting your hand on his arm to get him to stop.  Reid wasn’t big on touching, personal boundaries and all that, and you respected that.  “I get what you’re trying to say, and thank you.  You’re pretty good yourself.”

Reid caught the smirk growing on your lips just before you added, “You know, for _Caltech.”_

 _Ah yes_ , the rivalry between MIT and Caltech that took the form of a prank war between the two schools _despite_ the fact they were on opposite sides of the country.  Well, _Caltech_ calls them pranks, you know, because that's what they are.  MIT insists on referring to them as _hacks_ and their pranksters as _hackers -_ Reid wasn't going to get into the psychology behind that _._   He’d been _tempted_ to bring it up, but with everything…the two of you practically just met, there hadn’t exactly been a time to bring that up and he’d been desperately trying to figure out…everything that had happened...

“That’s right, MIT,” he tucked his hands into his pockets as a smile began to grow, “Now I'm really impressed.  You know, _considering_ \- ”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s just the standard for MIT,” you shrugged casually as you plugged your earbuds into your mp3 player and put one earbud into your ear, “Show up, show everyone how it’s done, and raise the bar for everyone else along the way.”

“You sure about this?” he gave you a chance to back out, hoping you wouldn’t take it.  It was nothing vicious, nothing ill-hearted, just a little rivalry.  A few teasing comments made with a laugh, the occasional harmless prank…could be fun.  “You might start something you can’t win.”

You put the second earbud into your other ear, unphased and unbothered, confident.

_“Bring it.”_


	7. Not The Best Meeting...

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Not The Best Meeting...

 

_It’s the most wonderful time of the year._

_Time for spooks and carved pumpkins,_

_Costumes and ghost stories_

_And candy sold in bulk._

_It’s the spook-tacular time of the year._

 

You were quite pleased as you placed your hot latte on your desk and untied your tan knit scarf before pulling off your matching knit cap.  October was always a good month for you – **_always_**.  Besides Halloween, it was the one month where everything went right and nothing went _wrong._   Considering, throughout the last 25 years of your life, things going wrong was pretty much a _daily_ occurrence until you reached college, having an entire _month_ of things going well was a much-needed respite from the other eleven months.  Then there was the fall chill, not too hot but not too cold, the September rush of pumpkin-spice everything dulled down, the leaves were really hitting their peak with gorgeous fall colors.

_And had you mentioned Halloween?_

This October hadn’t been any different.  You were finally able to leave Morgan’s guest room, which was just as good for him as it was you because if he woke you up during his early-morning routine of heading to the gym one more time you were going to _murder him slowly._   Sure, you picked up Yoga when you didn’t have time for dancing anymore, but you’d do it in the afternoon, at a time when it was acceptable to be awake.  Not in the early hours of the morning before the sun was up.

It wasn’t a huge apartment, spacious for a one-bedroom with a large kitchen and living room leading to a balcony, but it wasn’t _big_ and that suited you just fine.  You’d already put up a few decorations for Halloween as well, and binged a series of your favorite scary and Halloween movies as soon as you moved in.

You’d put up a few decorations around your desk – despite protests from Morgan as his desk was right across the partition from yours.  A few little plastic Jack-O-Lanterns, a little toy witch, a black cat, and a small bowl of candy for _non-grumps only._   Nothing big, you didn’t want to push the envelope too far as you were still the _new kid_. 

 _To be fair_ , you’d never been told that Halloween is actually a pretty popular holiday in the BAU.

You were careful not to sit on your long tan cardigan as you sat down, only remembering to pull your cell out the back pocket of your jeans after you sat on the damn thing.  Just a few months ago, you only needed it a few times a month.  Now, if you went five minutes without it, you missed something _massive._

You were still looking for a damn pen when Reid showed up for the day, catching you by surprise when he snuck up on Morgan, but you started giggling while the other profiler just barely kept from cursing and glared at the genius.  Prentiss joined in on the giggles, smiling wide at the scene. 

“Happy All Hallows Eve folks,” he greeted with a grin as he pulled the Frankenstein mask with a grin.  It looked like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to dress up as when he reached the office, between the monster gloves _and_ decorative noose hanging around his neck on top of the mask.  You didn’t even know what he had in that paper bag.  “To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night all order is suspended, and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily removed – _Oooo_ ”

Morgan was the only one who _wasn’t_ laughing as Reid grabbed the shrunken head decoration out of the paper bag in his arm and tossed it to Prentiss, who caught it with an excited yelp and grinned at the silly decoration before putting it on her desk for the day.

“See, that right there is why Halloween creeps me out,” Morgan disapproved of the entire holiday, he _always_ had.

“You’re scared of Halloween?” Reid found the idea baffling.  Who would be scared of Halloween?  He put the paper bag down and tossed each of you a piece of candy, so you grabbed the little bowl of candy on your desk and scooted across the aisle to offer some to Prentiss and Reid.

“I didn’t say I was _scared_ I said I was _creeped out_.”  That struck a nerve.  Morgan was going to _make sure_ you guys didn’t think he was _scared_ of a holiday.  “There’s a difference there, youngster, you should look it up.”

“You might have a better argument if you weren’t in your thirties and already calling grown adults _youngster,_ like a crazy old man using a baseball bat to chase kids off his lawn,” you deadpanned, entirely unimpressed and unafraid to push Derek’s buttons, scooting your chair back to your desk.  “If you call me _whipper-snapper_ , I’m kicking your ass.”

“What creeps you out about it?” Prentiss asked, still highly amused from watching the rest of you.  She knew _unique_ was a requirement to work in the BAU, but sometimes she wondered if _crazy_ was a requirement too.  She was there…so it was entirely possible.

“I dunno.  People wearing masks.  I don’t like folks in disguises.”

“That’s the best thing about Halloween,” Reid argued, “You can be anyone you want to be.”

“Nah, I’m pretty good just being me.”

You and Prentiss shared a look, she spoke up before you did with, “I’m guessing your as surprised by those points of view as I am.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

If you’d known what Morgan was going to say next, you would have called off that morning.  Or the week…maybe the rest of the _month_ …

You loved Derek, you did, but sometimes he’d say things that just made you _cringe._

“You know what, though?  On the flip side, it does provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick, and a little _Halloween honey_.”  His finger-gun, smirk, and the wink matched with a click of his tongue was all aimed at Prentiss, but you found yourself shuddering and gagging at it all the same.

“Congratulations, Derek, now everyone is creeped out,” you grimaced before turning back to your work, only for your attention to be grabbed once again as Reid nodded to the main doors of the BAU, where Section Chief Strauss was leading Rossi – _the_ David Rossi – through the bullpen and to Hotch’s office.  Reid just managed to yank of the mask that was still sitting atop his head and tucked it under his arm just before they walked by.

On the off chance either Rossi or Strauss heard any of that, it could have been worse.

…One of you could have shot them…

 

************

 

An office space above ground, a communications liaison, two doctors that had to be in their mid-twenties, a _jet_ …a lot of things had changed since the last time Rossi had retired – even without the fact that there weren’t enough people in the BAU to work in teams, and he had yet to meet Garcia.  And when the hell did the BAU start hiring profilers from a modeling agency?  Rossi was _far_ from the man he’d been when he started out, being the reason there were seminars warning against fraternization in the first place, but he wasn’t _blind_ either. 

Everyone filed into the round-table room, where JJ was laying out copies of the file for everyone with the blank notepads at each seat, leaving pens as well.  You couldn’t help but briefly wonder where all your pens had gone off to.  You had a whole pack of colored pens, you liked to make your own notes in colored pens.  There was no color-coding involved, you just preferred to use colors like aqua, green, purple, even pink or orange on occasion.  Just for the fun of it.  You still had a handful of black pens for official documents, but most of what you wrote by hand were personal notes scribbled down as you went through a file before writing up a report, whether it be your report on a BAU case or writing up a profile requested by a local department or field office.

You let Reid borrow a red one from your stash and…

_Did he…_

“Carrollton, Texas is a suburb just outside of Dallas.  Four days ago Micelle Colucci found this flier on her front door,” JJ started to brief the rest of you as you found your seats around the table, keeping an eye on the screen as she pulled up an image of the flier.  It was fairly simple, wouldn’t take anything more complicated than Microsoft Word to make – let alone Paint or Photoshop – just a cropped image of her with the text _‘have you seen me?’_ in bold at the top.

“ _She_ found it?” Morgan was the first to voice the question you were all thinking.

“Meaning, she wasn’t actually missing?” Prentiss questioned herself.  This case was bizarre from the _start_ , you had to admit that much.

“ _Yet_ ,” JJ continued, “She took the flier to a friend’s husband, Detective Yarbrough, at the Carrolton P.D., who told her it was probably just a Halloween Prank, and he sent her home.”

“Well, I don’t blame him,” Morgan shot a look to Reid, still not quite over what had happened in the bullpen, “Halloween brings out the _fool_ in everybody.”

That was tough talk for a guy scared of little kids dressed up as fictional characters and asking for candy.

“ _Still,_ ” JJ stepped in before it became a whole thing, she’d caught bits and pieces of the conversation in the bullpen as she set up for the meeting, “He stopped by Michelle’s house later to check on her.  Thee door was open, and wen he went inside, he found this.”

The photos of the scene inside the house flicked onto the screen one by one.  The wall was covered in copies of the same flyer Michelle found on her door.  Then there was the mask laid out.  A simple white face-mask with _one_ written at the top in red paint, it was _too_ red to be blood.

“He still thought maybe it could be some kind of prank, until yesterday.”  JJ brought up pictures of the dump site, “Michelle was found floating in a small creek just outside of Carrollton.  She had been sexually assaulted…and her face had been removed.”

“Removed?” Rossi questioned for more details, “Was it animals or fish?”

“No, that cut’s too smooth,” you immediately recognized when you saw the picture of Michelle’s head, years of training, digs, and assisting the FBI from the Medico-Legal lab in Boston kicking in, instinctual like you were looking at a bookshelf and identifying what it was.  You grabbed your pen and got up to get a closer look at the photo, deciphering what you could without the actual body, chewing on the end of the pen a little before tilting your head and tracing the cuts in the air just a few inches from the screen.  There were copies of the photos in the file, but the image on the screen was a bit larger and had the backlight of the screen illuminating it, and you thought better on your feet anyway.

“Any insight into what he used or what his skill level is?” Hotch asked, the team watching as _most_ of them knew what you were doing up there.  Rossi had, to his defense, _no_ idea what your exact specialization or doctorate was in.  He knew you were _Dr. Castillo_ , like he knew Reid was _Dr. Reid_ , but beyond that he hadn’t a clue.

“I _might_ be able to tell what he used when we get there, but there’s minimal bone exposed so the chances of narrowing it down to an _exact_ type of blade are slimmer than usual and I’m willing to bet it would be a waste of time, especially since we have no sense of the unsub’s cooldown period.  I _can_ say it doesn’t look like he cut all the way through the skin in some places, so while he was careful I’m still willing to bet he has no _professional_ training.”  You slid back into your seat at the table, laying out your plan to meet up with the M.E. when the team got to Carrolton before getting back to the team.

“The M.E. also found water in her lungs,” JJ finished up with the rest of the findings as you took a seat, just a moment before Garcia rushed into the meeting room to catch up with the rest of the team.

 _“Oh my god_ ,” Garcia froze and brought up the file of information Hotch asked for to block her view of the gruesome photograph on the screen, “ _What is that?”_

“Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia,” Hotch introduced her to Rossi, everyone’s attention brought up to the squeamish hacker who had the misfortune of walking in while the worst of the photos was on the screen, something JJ quickly rectified.  “This is SSA David Rossi.”

“ _Is it gone,_ JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” JJ reassured as she sat down at the table, “You’re safe.”

“Just to, um…” Garcia was still a bit shaky as she lowered the file and addressed the team, looking down at it as she held it in both hands before giving it to Hotch, “Carrollton, Texas, has nearly 117,000 residents, a diverse population with a – it’s all in there.”

Garcia took a pause before stepping forward to shake Rossi’s hand, putting on a smile even though she was still shaken from the image and just wanted to get back to her realm to recuperate, to chase that image out of her head.  “Very nice to meet you, sir…I’ll be in my office.”

She stopped half-way out the door before remembering to close the door behind her, leaving with one last sorry.

That was…that was a pretty bad introduction.  Derek ducked a little in his seat and hid behind his hand in his own embarrassment for her, baby girl could do better than that, as the rest of you offered sympathetic grimaces or furrowed brows towards the door, hoping Rossi would forget about that.

“She’s different,” Rossi aimed his comment, more an observation as there was nothing _judgmental_ about it, to Hotch.  There was only one good response to that.

“You have _no_ idea.”  Hotch wished there had been at least a _bit_ of time to give Rossi a heads-up on dealing with the rest of the team.  Not that any of you were bad or difficult, you were just… _odd_ in your own ways.  Rossi hadn’t even seen the _half_ of it in this meeting.

“Uh, so, the unsub tells her she’s _going_ to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortures her physically.”  Prentiss returned the focus to the case and started on the basics of a profile.  “Clearly, a sadist.”

“A sophisticated one,” Hotch warned the rest of you.  You had to be _careful_ , more careful than normal.  “That’s elaborate.”

“Number one…” Morgan had been looking at the photo of the mask for a bit, a _few_ moments opposed to the one he’d taken to look over the other photos.

“That particular mask is known as a _false face_ ,” Reid informed the rest of you, “It’s most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras.”

“ _Creepy_ ,” Morgan retorted as he dropped the handful of photographs back onto the table, “I rest my case.”

“He could believe she wears a false face, she’s pretending to be something she’s not and the face we all see is a mask,” you proposed, there was a reason behind the mask.  It was rare for unsubs to go through something this elaborate without a _reason._

“Oh, and Hotch,” JJ wanted to give this one warning before even leaving the office, as it could wildly change any plan of attack, “Local media has the story, broke big.”

“Tell Carrollton we’ll be there first thing in the morning.  Let’s stop this one at one.”


	8. Masks and Riverbanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, little Kindle history, the first Kindle – the super thin one that wasn’t a touch screen, had the buttons on the side to turn the pages, optional keyboard at the bottom, and a black-and-white screen that looked like a mixture between a page of a book and the screen of the original GameBoy but without the backlight so it was really easy on your eyes and was nothing but an ereader – came out late 2007. The point is, it was out by this time in the CM series. My parents got me one because I already had a terrifyingly large book collection at the time and they figured it would be cheaper than having to build an entire room for all my books. I love that thing…still have it and it still works.
> 
> Also, the information I mentioned about the Guatemalan genocide is based on research. I don’t wanna just throw out a country that Rea went to without reason. If curious, these are a few of the links I looked at. Wikipedia was used for a place to start. It’s generally pretty good, but I double-checked with other, credible, sources to be sure.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guatemalan_genocide  
> https://cja.org/where-we-work/guatemala/  
> https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/09/guatemala-military-carried-genocide-court-rules-180927145730845.html  
> https://www.hmh.org/library/research/genocide-in-guatemala-guide/#

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Masks and Riverbanks

 

You could have just bought another pack of pens, your average adult would have, but you weren’t about to do that.  You were going to get your pens back, and you also weren’t about to let Reid go anywhere _near_ your pens ever again.  You were already working on a retaliation.  It would require stealth, more stealth than showing up early or staying late at the office, but you felt you could pull it off.  Reid _did_ seem to prefer hardcover books over paperback…

If you had your Kindle with you, it would make for _quite_ the punchline…

You hadn’t originally planned on going this far, but it’s not like it was a secret that you were emotionally attached to your colored pens.  You used them for everything!  The pink heart tattoo on the underside of your left wrist started out as something you’d regularly scribble onto your arm when you were in Guatemala.  Your mentor – Dr. Amelia Hannigan – had brought you along on a dig with a group of other Forensic Anthropologists to identify victims of the genocide during the civil war.  Sarajevo was hardly the _only_ dig you’d been on, that was hardly a secret, it was just the only one Derek knew the _details_ of.

It wasn’t the same pack of pens, and honestly losing them was like misplacing a tube of Chapstick as it was mildly irritating and a little inconvenient but hardly harmful, but those were _nice pens._   They were felt-tip, never dried out, the ink didn’t smudge, there was a wide variety of vibrant colors that were really pretty…

You’d get your pens back, and have your vengeance.

“Let’s go over victimology,” Hotch began the briefing on the jet after everyone gathered around the table, either sitting at the table, you were leaning against the side of Prentiss’ seat, and Hotch was leaning back against the bar.  Everyone but Rossi, who had tucked himself into the far corner of the jet, alone, at one of the smaller tables.  He seemed distracted by something.  “Would you like to join us, Dave?”

“Reid, what have you got?” Hotch started things off.  Reid had already finished reading through the case file hours before the rest of you.

“Uh, Michelle Colucci was single, lived alone, no boyfriend, and no ex-husband,” he started off listing the characteristics that _should_ have kept Michelle safe.

“Dating?” Prentiss asked, wondering if Michelle could have caught the unsub’s attention that way.

“There’s nothing in the reports,” Morgan answered without looking up from the series of photographs.  You had pulled the M.E.’s report out and focused on that, on top of the post-mortem photographs of Michelle herself.  Gruesome as it was, this was another one of those cases that might require use of your specific training.

“She was an architect.  Friends and coworkers say she’s a classic workaholic,” JJ added to the growing victimology, listing things that should have made Michelle _safe._   “Basically, a loner who rarely went out of the house.”

“So, she’s extremely low risk,” Prentiss concluded.

“If it wasn’t someone she knew personally, it’s possible she was being stalked,” Reid proposed a connection between Michelle and the unsub.

“Interesting…”

“What’s that?”

All eyes turned to Rossi, having just mused aloud as he began writing in his pocket notebook, looking up at the rest of you when Reid had asked just what the older profiler was thinking.  You all shared looks, save for Hotch, as you all silently agreed on the same thing.  Rossi, whether he was used to working on a team or not, clearly wasn’t a _natural_ team player.  He was obviously here for his own reasons, and those reasons were enough for him to endure working with the rest of you for the time being, but that didn’t mean he was going to put a _lot_ of effort into being a team player – if _any._

“Oh, I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Something to add?”  Hotch tried to get Rossi to share what he was thinking, as this was highly out of character.  Rossi had asked a few questions about the team in private.  What your specialties were, if anyone was cleared to enter with a SWAT team, when each of you had started, basic information that would help give him an idea of the team dynamic.  That much made sense, but remaining this quiet and reserved – even if he had just join the team that morning – was out of character.

“No.  Sorry to interrupt.”

“Well, she’s pretty.”  Morgan just went back to the case, that was all you could do at the moment and there was nothing telling you what the unsub’s cooldown period was.  Clearly, he was planning on attacking again, the question was _when_.  “It could be that the unsub met her casually and made her part of some kind of fantasy.”

“And he tries to act on it and she rejects them?” Hotch completed the potential idea, more like he was making sure that’s where Morgan was going than agreeing.  Nothing was solid at the moment, and it was rare for the team to arrive with a profile ready to go.

“So, he tortures her,” Prentiss adds to the growing theory, “Out of anger?”

“Masks often represent a state of mind, this one’s blank, expressionless.”  Reid turned the attention back to the mask, something that could tell you chapters about the unsub but could also mean must about _anything_.  “Doesn’t really coincide with anger.”

“Assuming mutilation to the body is automatically a sign of anger is a bit of a jump,” you agreed with the other doctor, “As bizarre or gory as it is, it could easily be more about the _message_ or making a point.  The cuts might not be _professional_ , but they’re still neat and careful.  If he’d done it in a rage, he would have made mistakes, skinned down to the bone in more places, cut into the eyes, tendons would be ripped in places…”

 _“Hey guys,”_ Garcia jumped in after opening a video-chat on the open laptop, sitting on the table back against the wall of the jet.

“What’s up?  You got something for us?” Morgan greeted, everyone turning their attention to Garcia in the hopes she’d found something else for you to work with.

 _“A list of Michelle Colucci’s clients.  She designed office space,”_ Garcia brought up a list of clients, and their contact information, onto your screen and continued to fill you in.  _“She designed office space, mostly bog corporate remodeling plans.”_

“No private clients, one-on-one contact?”  Hotch was hoping to dig something out from Michelle’s work, especially since that was where she spent most of her time and energy.

_“Doesn’t look like it, no.”_

“Thanks baby girl.”

Well…this was going well…

 

************

 

You’d all just arrived, and there was already news of a second victim.  Enid White from the Dallas Metro area, her roommate had called Dallas P.D. earlier in the morning when Enid never arrived home after walking her dog the night before.  You all skipped the introductions as Detective Yarbrough filled the rest of you in as you gathered around his desk.

“So, she is missing,” Reid concluded as you all prepared to work against the clock.

“Well, he wallpapered the neighborhood with fliers for two blocks around their apartment.”

“Outside, that’s different,” Morgan caught onto the fact that the unsub was changing his M.O. already.  It could be nothing, just an unsub adapting their M.O. in the beginning of their killing career, or it could be everything, like Enid managed to slip away and the unsub had to adapt his methods.

“No one saw him putting them up?”  Prentiss found that part particularly unbelievable.  Someone was posting missing flyers the entire Dallas area knew were connected to at least one gruesome and terrifying murder, and nobody even saw them?  While neighborhoods tended to become _hyper_ vigilant and _paranoid_ when they found out a killer was in their midst, to the point of potentially attacking anyone who seemed slightly out of the norm, they also tended to spot _everything._   They were actively looking for things that didn’t fit, and the fact that nobody spotted the unsub was just _weird._

“Dallas P.D. is still canvassing, but nothing so far,” the detective filled you in, “They’re waiting for you on the new scene.”

“Mind if I keep this?”  Hotch held a copy of the new flyer in hand, already prepared to split up the team and hit the ground running.  There was no time to waste.

“Not at all.”

“Morgan, you and Prentiss go to Michelle Colucci’s house.  JJ and I will talk to Enid’s roommate.  Dave, do you mind walking the disposal site with the detective, Castillo, and Reid?”

“Whatever you need.”

“We’ll regroup in an hour.”

 

************

 

You left your sweater in the car, leaving you in a gray U-neck t-shirt just warm enough for the Texas fall weather.  You immediately tied your hair up and grabbed a pair of gloves from the car before tucking them into your pocket and following the detective to the dump site.

“We went over this area pretty thoroughly,” Yarbrough warned as he led the rest of you through the brush, “There’s no evidence left.”

“I just want to stand where she was,” Rossi reassured the detective, though immediately changed the subject to something that caught your attention.  “Dr. Reid, do we still keep all the old files in the fourth-floor storeroom?”

“I think some are up there – you know, most of our information’s on computer now.”

“Right…”

“Have you had a chance to go through our data since you’ve been back?”  Reid was, arguably, the most excited about Rossi’s return to the BAU and joining the team.  It…it kind of concerned you.  It wasn’t exactly a _secret_ that Reid looked up to Gideon as a mentor and father-figure, or that his own father had run out on him when he was a kid.  Going through that experience once can leave someone scrambling for purchase, but going through it a second-time could leave someone wildly unsure of _everything_ about themselves and trying to find _something_ familiar.  For someone with Reid’s self-esteem, even if it was _unrightfully_ low, would openly welcome the presence of someone to look up to.

It wasn’t so much that Rossi clearly had no intention of making friends that worried you, it was the fact that Reid just didn’t _need_ a mentor.  Yeah, sure, you’d only _sort of_ worked with Gideon _once_ months ago, but you still held firm to the opinion that Reid was a better profiler than the famed agent.  If you thought there was a _chance_ Reid was just some kid in need of guidance, you never would have goaded him into a long-standing prank war to begin with.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll be amazed.”  Reid was rightfully proud.  “The original team – I mean, you interviewed something like, uh, 45 serial killers, right?”

“Something like…”

“Today we have interviews with over 1,000 offenders.  Serial killers, child abductors, sex offenders – “ Reid listed off before offering, “I’ll go through it with you sometime if you like, answer any questions – “

“Sounds good.”

The four of you stopped at the bank, though during your time at the Medico-Legal lab in Boston you’d learned it could just as much about the area _around_ the spot the body was found as much as everything else.  You took a few careful steps, brown low-heeled boots almost reaching your knee and worn-in, before slipping around and through a few smaller trees and broken branches before crouching and balancing on a larger tree that had fallen over and reached to the middle of the river.  It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to from your time as an intern, that was part of the reason Hannigan needed good interns in the first place.  She couldn’t go crawling around dump sites with both a bad knee _and_ shoulder.  So, you’d crawl and climb around collecting evidence, taking photographs, even collecting the occasional severed limb from a tree.

“Her body was found right here…” Yarbrough was wracked with guilt as he stared at the river bank, “I really thought it was a prank.”

“You can’t really blame yourself for that,” Reid tried to offer the detective some solace, that it wasn’t Yarbrough’s fault.

“She made herself dinner…”

“Excuse me?”  Reid knew he wasn’t going to be able to convince Yarbrough none of this was the detective’s fault.  That kind of guilt doesn’t just _go away_ overnight, assuming it ever does, but the profiler wasn’t quite sure what Yarbrough was referring to, what bothered him about the fact that Michelle had made herself dinner for the night.

“I mean she was home for a while before he…there was time to help her.”

“Water…hides a body, destroys evidence,” Rossi thought aloud as he walked along the bank, reaching the tree you were crouched on as you took a look at the river itself, “But you weren’t in the water long, where you Michelle?”

“The water’s deep,” you spoke up as you tossed the stick you’d been using to try and measure the depth of the river before tossing it into the river.

“She had rocks tied to her to weigh her down,” Yarbrough supported your conclusion, but there was more to it than that.

“She floated to the surface before there was any other damage,” Reid pointed out the short period of time Michelle was submerged, especially since she wasn’t supposed to resurface.  The unsub had made a mistake in trying to weigh her down.

“Just what was done to her already.”

“The unsub screwed up trying to weigh her down enough to sink,” you explained the point to the detective, getting up and making your way back to shore as Rossi began to scribble in his notepad once again.  He used differently colored pens, but he’d put one back before grabbing another one at time – like it wasn’t the pen he wanted.  There was a color-coding to his note-taking.  He was working on something, working on theories he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the team.  “He didn’t want Michelle to be found, and with the symbology of the mask it’s a safe assumption that he didn't pick Michelle at random.”

Reid quickly caught onto the conclusion you were leading to.  The Green River Killer didn’t care if the bodies were found because he had no connection to them.  This unsub tried to hide Michelle’s body in the river, he didn’t want her to be found even if everyone knew she was taken.  A forensic countermeasure.

“He has a connection to her.”


	9. Pushing And Charming

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Pushing And Charming

 

Hotch and JJ returned to the precinct after you did with Reid, Rossi, and Yarbrough.  Morgan and Prentiss were still at Michelle’s house, while Garcia continued to search for Enid White in the hopes that she had taken off her own volition after seeing the news story about Michelle.  The first victim was kept for three days and found on the fourth meaning that – if Enid was kidnapped – there were only three days to find her before it was too late.  Rossi remained glued to his notepad, saying nothing as he flipped through the few pages of what he had so far.

Only a few short moments after sharing what you’d found with Hotch, Garcia called with some news regarding Enid White.

_“I’ve been running all of Enid White’s credit cards.”_

That wasn’t a surprise, Garcia was nothing if not _thorough_ in her job, but like the rest of you Hotch knew that Garcia wouldn’t call if she hadn’t found something.

“And?”

_“She made a purchase at 9 am this morning at a sporting goods store in Dallas.”_

“This morning?” Hotch questioned.

“What did she buy?”  Reid had a point to ask, the item purchased could give you some insight into whether she was using her card or the unsub was using it.

_“A shotgun.”_

“She can buy a gun that easily?”  You couldn’t believe Hotch even had to ask, it’s like he completely forgot where you were.

“Hotch, this is _Texas_ ,” you reminded, giving him a deadpan expression as you leaned back against Yarbrough’s desk as you and Reid had been trying to narrow down exactly where Michelle had been dumped using a map pulled up on the detective’s computer.

“There’s no waiting period for most rifles or shotguns,” Rossi elaborated with the specific standing of gun laws in the state of Texas.

“Is there video surveillance of gun sales in sporting goods stores?” Hotch turned his question towards the detective.

“There’s _supposed_ to be.”

“JJ call the store, find out if it was Enid or the unsub using the credit card.”

“Right away,” JJ nodded before stepping away to use a phone and get hold of the store, prepared to negotiate if she had to.  She wasn’t gone more than a second before a uniformed officer let Yarbrough know he had call from a woman.

A woman claiming to be Enid White.

 

************

 

Less than a half hour before getting to the motel room Enid was waiting at, and she was already taken.  The flyers were thrown around the room, instead of hung up like at Michelle’s house, and the mask in the center of the bed had _two_ written on the forehead.  The unsub _knew_ authorities were on the way, sitting outside the motel with a cell interceptor he likely bought from a local electronics store for a couple of bucks and waiting for Enid to call the hotline number.  He wanted to keep the mask between him and the authorities, the one thing that the media hadn’t blasted all over the news because they _didn’t know about it._

There was enough for a profile.

The unsub was a white male, roughly average height at 5’11” and average weight at about 165.  The unsub was _remarkably_ average.  _Bizarrely_ so as even after the media coverage of the case nobody in Enid White’s neighborhood could describe the man they’d seen putting up the flyers around the neighborhood.  His plans were sophisticated and by waiting and watching his victims he proved his patience, even in the way he waited three days before killing them.  This made him dangerous, but it also meant he was somewhere between 35 and 40 years old.  He had access to a house, that’s where he held Michelle and it’s where he was holding Enid.  He was also relatively technically savvy, he made the flyers in a day when Microsoft Word was notoriously finnicky and used a cell interceptor to listen in on Enid’s calls.

Not only did this man _look_ average, but he was average at work as well.  He had an average job, his performance was average, and he didn’t stick out.  _That_ was part of his problem, his psychopathy.  Most people go throughout the day and ignore most people they deal with.  You ignore other shoppers at the mall, people in the coffee shop line, even just walking past people in the same place you work.  Unlike most people, the unsub took that as a personal offense – especially when he was ignored by the poor woman who became the object of his sexual desire.  He obsessed, she became all he could think about, and then he’d attack out of a rage from being ignored.  While the _masks_ referred to the women, the phrase _‘have you seen me?’_ on the flyers referred to the unsub.

He removed his victims’ faces because it gave him a sense of power, he was removing the thing he thought made them notable, and while that sense of power made him arrogant it didn’t make him any more noticeable.  The plan was to try and get the unsub to contact the authorities, especially since it looked like he wanted to communicate with them anyway.  He went out of his way to make sure the masks remained between him and the authorities –

Until _Rossi_ leaked it to the press.

Well, sort of.  He leaked the masks, and then lied to the press saying you thought the masks mean the unsub is _impotent._

So, not only did you have a ticking timebomb of an unsub about to call at any moment, you had Hotch pulling Rossi aside to lecture him and Rossi – being _the_ senior agent and one of the men responsible for turning the BAU into what it was – did not appreciate that.  To top things off, the local department already growing frustrated with the case was noticing that the team was having a little trouble communicating at the same time Rossi’s little slip to the press made it look like the FBI was showing up to make the locals look like idiots.

The rest of you managed to end the meeting and dismiss the officers without further incident, before heading into the meeting room set aside for the team’s use.  You called Garcia to fill her in, she was scanning through both Michelle and Edith’s history to find something that connected the two, and found a single tech company.

“Garcia,” Morgan greeted on the desk phone put on speaker after JJ returned from grabbing Hotch and Rossi, “Talk to us.”

_“So, Michelle Colucci recently drew up the plans for a remodel of three floors of a company called Techco Communications.  It’s a high-tech communications company in downtown Dallas.”_

“And Enid White?” Hotch asked how the second victim fit into that discovery.

_“Worked there until two months ago.”_

“He’s on two,” Yarbrough didn’t wait to let the team know that as he stepped into the room, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“The unsub?”  Hotch double-checked, to be sure.

“Demanded to speak to the FBI.”

Hotch looked to Rossi, deciding to trust his plan for now, and the rest of you followed Hotch’s lead.  That didn’t mean you trusted _Rossi_ , but you trusted Hotch and he was taking that chance.

“This is FBI Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi.”

 _“You called me impotent.”_   The unsub didn’t even have a voice that could be considered memorable, the man really was just… _forgettable._   He was already irritated, though he was keeping his voice down like he was making sure he wasn’t heard by anyone around him.

“Did I?”  Rossi was pushing the unsub, because _that_ was a good idea.

_“I’m not impotent.”_

“Why are you whispering?”

_“You lied.  You lied.”_

“Is someone around you?  Are you at work?”  That _was_ the most likely scenario.  The unsub was, by his very definition, unnoticeable.  His performance at work was unnoticeable.  He wouldn’t call off work for days on end, he’d continue going like a dutiful employee.

_“You have to tell the news the truth.”_

“I’ll get you on the news and then you can correct me yourself.”

_“No, you.  You – you correct it.”_

“By the way, I was, um, looking at the police security tapes for the day Michelle Colucci went missing.”  Rossi was outright _lying_ to the unsub now.  There were no tapes, that was the problem.  You’d been there when Rossi asked about the precinct security cameras, they _didn’t work_.  Profilers would know what to look for on those tapes, unremarkable man or not you’d recognize his behavior.  Tell that like to the wrong unsub, and that unsub would know you had nothing.  It was a risky lie, too risky considering the unsub had a woman in captivity.

_“What?”_

“You watched her long enough to know she didn’t have visitors.  She was a loner.  Yet you knew that Detective Yarbrough was coming over.  You must have been right here in this station when he told her.”  Rossi sat down and leaned closer to the phone.  “Now, your face is gonna be on one of those tapes, and when I find it, I’m gonna paper this city with it, just like you did with those women.  _Everyone_ will see it.  They won’t be able to ignore you now.  But, you won’t inspire _fear_ , you’ll inspire hatred and ridicule.”

While you remained standing out of nerves, reminding yourself you’d have to physically leap over both Prentiss and the table to stop Rossi, you noticed Derek was slouching back in his chair and clutching at the armrest of his chair with one hand, JJ had placed herself on the far side of the table from Rossi, Prentiss kept shooting looks at Hotch like she was waiting for him to say something, multiple times Reid had to stop himself from saying something because this was just a _bad idea,_ and even Hotch was leaning forward to stop Rossi.  Experienced profiler or not, things weren’t the same as the last time he was in the field.  You had more data, more studies, more information that told you this kind of behavior was a _horrible_ idea and was much more likely to end in another dead body.

“Because the only power someone like you has is a mask, and once that mask is removed, you’ll be as insignificant as you’ve always been – _a loser!”_

There was a brief silence before –

_“You just signed Enid White’s death warrant.”_

 

************

 

You remained huffy during the hurried drive to the Techco building, the team split up into two FBI suburbans and driving with a line of marked and unmarked cars, sirens running and lights flashing.  He had outright lied, left the team scrambling to catch up, and played a risky gamble that might end up with Edith White dead.  Even Hotch, an old friend of Rossi’s, was at the end of his rope and losing his patience.

The building had been locked down, but that didn’t guarantee the unsub was still there.

“Garcia, which floors did Michelle Carlucci remodel?  Got it – 7, 8, 9.” Hotch hung up and tucked his phone back into his pocket, everyone who worked in the building held inside by the police lockdown, everyone tucked into the lobby as they waited to leave and murmured amongst each other as they tried to figure out what was going on.  “Morgan, take 7.  We’re looking for a rank-and-file employee who made a scene in the last 20 minutes or was here and gone.  Prentiss eight, Reid nine, Castillo stay down here and see if you can pick him out of the crowd.  Don’t approach him, just try to get a name – maybe a picture.”

The four of you went your own ways, three of you heading towards the elevators as you stepped away to mingle with the crowd.  You spotted as Rossi and Hotch pulled out their badges and hung them off their suit jackets, looking at the flyer of Edith Hotch had in his jacket pocket like they were looking for the person on it.  Practically everyone was in the lobby, bets were he was there.  You sifted through, eyes darting around as you looked for a white male who fit the description of the unsub, narrowing it down to someone who looked like he was on edge.  You left your badge in your pocket, looking around – too tall, too short, too fit, too pretty, too calm, laughing –

_Bingo._

You weaved through the crowd, catching Hotch and patting him on the arm and catching both his and Rossi’s attention before they followed your line of sight and the three of you made your way through the crowd as the unsub made his way back down a side hall.  You all split up, cornering the end of the hall as the unsub headed down it, Hotch’s cell ringing only once before he answered it, eyes still glued to the man trying to make an escape.  “Yeah Reid…Got it.”

“Sir,” Rossi called after the man, the both of you with your hands on your guns, and the unsub didn’t stop.  Hotch took the few steps to catch up to the both of you, the three of you unholstering your weapons and preparing for a shootout as the unsub walked past the elevators.  “ _Sir._ ”

“Max Pool,” Hotch called after him, getting the man to stop in his tracks.  “We have your address, Max, there’s no place to go.”

“This is Agent Rossi, Max.  If you do what you’re thinking, you won’t get to tell them I lied,” Rossi tried to convince the unsub – Max Pool – to hand himself over instead of trying to fight it or run.  “Come on, Max, slowly put your hands on top of your head.”

The guys trying to talk this guy down wasn’t going to work, so you decided to try and charm him into it.  “If you fight you’ll be forgotten the second someone else moves into that cubicle.  You come with us, and you’ll be remembered, _studied_ even, people won’t know if you were forgettable by happenstance or on purpose.”

It was working, he was taking a pause, he was shifting his stance and was raising his arms – then the elevator dinged and Morgan started to step off, Max’s hand immediately reaching for his gun.  For what, you didn’t know, but there wasn’t a chance to think about it.

 _“Down!”_ Hotch ordered, and Morgan immediately dropped and rolled as he yanked his own gun out of its holster, guns firing as Max turned to face the rest of you.

Here’s to hoping Edith was at Max Pool’s house.

 

************

 

If, during your undergrad years, someone had come to you and told you the most useful thing you’d learn seeking your graduate degree would be how to _charm_ someone, you would have thought they were insane.  Of course, that would have been long before the days when charm and a smile could be the only thing keeping you and the others identifying victims of a genocide from being _shot_ by the soldiers under the command of the same government that committed the aforementioned genocide against the Mayan population.

It had almost worked, but happenstance had other plans and the team was left sighing in relief as Edith White was found at Max Pool’s address and rushed to a hospital.  Children were drawn to the lights of the police and FBI vehicles, dressed in costumes to trick-or-treat for the night, and even Morgan had to admit the kids were cute in their costumes.  With his sugar intake, you weren’t even _surprised_ that Reid had candy in his satchel, though…he left it open so everyone could hand out candy…

“Hey – _hey_ ,” Reid protested as you reached into his bag after handing out the first handful of candy, “What are you doing?”

“I handed out all my candy and – _what’s this?”_ you feigned shock as you pulled out a handful of pens.  Colorful felt-tip pens.  _Your pens._   “Why, these look like _my_ pens Dr. Reid, but what would you be doing with my pens?”

“I was gonna give them _back_!” he defended, “I figured out I needed more colors than just _red_.”

“To _what_?  Drive me insane?” you countered, knowing you’d caught the doctor red-handed, and he knew it too.  So, he shrugged and admitted it.

“Yeah.”  He smiled, rather proud of himself as you narrowed your eyes at him and gave him a half-hearted glare.  It was all part of the prank war, fun and games, but that didn’t mean you were going to just let him get _away_ with it.  Sure, you deserved retaliation, and he probably held back considering he was still finding glitter around his desk, but your _pens?_

“You crossed into sacred territory, doctor.  You’re gonna regret that.”

He tucked his hands in his pockets, giving a half-assed shrug.  He was confident, which was a good thing honestly, and you liked that you already got to see this side of him - for _whatever_ reason.  The clever man who drew a _lot_ of amusement from a friendly prank war.

“To use your own words, doctor, _bring it.”_


	10. Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Supernatural used to be on Tuesdays when it started out – back when it was still on TNT before being moved to the CW and Thursdays.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

 

“Okay, I see your argument,” you continued the debate as you mixed another batch of mojitos for you and Penelope during a commercial break.  The two of you had a regular date every Tuesday, you’d pick up some takeout and head to your apartment to drink and watch TV.  Though, you were careful.  Most Tuesdays gave way to a Wednesday the both of you had to be at the office.  “But I raise you this, Sam’s hair.”

“Pretty hair?  Dean’s voice is like _sex_ ,” Penelope argued as you made your way back to the couch and took the drink you offered.

“Someone’s clearly never dated a guy with good hair before,” you snorted as you lifted the tall glass holding your mojito to your lips, distinctly recalling a boyfriend from a few years ago that had _amazing_ hair.  You _had_ been jealous, but then you had free reign to play with it all you wanted and just didn’t care that he woke up with amazing hair while you had to go through a whole routine to keep yours from frizzing up and becoming unmanageable.  Just brushing your hair was a workout.  Long and thick hair comes with a price.  “Have you ever pulled on a guy’s hair during sex?  It’s like flipping a switch and everything becomes all growls, sex bites, and kinks from there.”

“But _every_ guy?” Penelope was a _bit_ skeptical.  That sounded great, amazing even, but…

“ _You’re_ questioning this?” you countered, it was unlike your friend to be so cautious about something like that.  You’d had a series of conversations on similar topics, and every time it had been giggles and laughs as the two of talked.  Hell, last weekend you’d had a drunken conversation with Emily – JJ had gone out of town for the weekend to visit the boyfriend she thought none of you knew about – about what you thought the guys on the team were like during sex.  “What are you thinking?”

“Well…when we were talking about the guys last weekend you said all the smart guys were dated were really creative and guaranteed to give you an orgasm _every time_ ,” Penelope recalled the conversation, as the three of you had been laughing and debating over drinks on your balcony late into the night.  Out of all the sleepovers she’d had during her life, even those she’d had as a kid, that one was the best.

“Yeah, smarter guys tend to be more attentive, test things out and adapt, and in my experience getting their partner off gets _them_ off,” you explained, sitting back against the armrest of your couch as the commercial break continued.  “Part of it is sort of topical too, considering it’s fairly recently that society is catching up on the fact that it’s the smart people that control everything and not the jocks.  Basically, you’re taking the nerd that was completely out of control as the underdog their entire life and fully aware of the fact that their control over a situation is based on their control over themselves and how they react, like calculating moves in a chess game, which is why they’re generally just _better_ at controlling a situation.  They calculate the reactions to their own actions and go from there.  That’s what makes them more dangerous than the _typical_ alpha male where the strategy is aggression and punching things.  So, when the rare occasion comes up where they can directly control a situation comes up, they have a _field day_ with it.”

Garcia nodded along, _profilers will be profilers_ , before voicing the thing that had been on her mind after you brought up the whole _hair_ thing.  “Yeah…you’ve seen Reid’s hair, though, right?”

She wasn’t _attracted_ to Reid, he was easily her favorite nerd and a great guy, but _no._

The two of you paused for a moment, putting the two conversations together.

You only had one reaction to that.

“Well… _huh_ …”

 

************

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Derek had to ask.  The second you arrived for the morning, you looked around the bullpen before grabbing your bag and _launching_ your desk chair across the aisle and started digging through the other doctor’s things before fussing around with two different piles of _books_ – one of which you’d pulled out of your bag _._

“ _Shhhh!”_ you hissed before getting back to work snatching another book jacket and wrapping it around a book the same size as the book you’d snatched it from, “I spent an entire _month_ planning my revenge, I’m making for _damn_ sure he never steals my pens again.  So, you can either keep lookout, or stay the hell out of it.”

Prentiss just shrugged, deciding to stay out of it herself, and Derek just shook his head before getting up to get some coffee as you kicked your rolling-chair back across the aisle to your desk just as the genius entered the office for the morning – half awake as he normally was.  Derek wasn’t about to get involved, he wasn’t going to ask, he was just going to stay out of the lengthy prank war that had no sign of ending any time soon.

JJ was in a rush as she called the rest of you to the meeting room, only saying it was a _bad one_ as the rest of you got up to follow.

“Bridgewater, Florida.  A local girl, Abby Kelton, 19, left her parents’ home to go to the local junior college.  She never came home,” JJ started as soon as everyone was gathered, still taking their seats around the table before she finished as pictures of Abby at the dump site were displayed on the screen.  “Three days later, joggers found her – part of her – in a nearby park.”

Her bottom half was just _gone_ , cut off at the waist.  Her throat was slashed and a _pentagram_ was carved into her chest.  She was obviously dead before being dumped.

“What did _that_ to her?” Prentiss was talking about the fact you only had half of a body.  If it was the unsub…

“Bridgewater’s off of I-75, which is often referred to as Alligator Alley for reasons that are now apparent,” JJ motioned to the screen, specifically the picture that illustrated that Abby’s lower half was just _gone_.  “Everything below the waist had been eaten.”

“Ah, the circle of life,” Rossi commented on the nature-induced difficulty.

“Suddenly, I don’t feel so guilty about my Alligator wallet,” Prentiss added.

“Alligators didn’t cut off her fingers, slit her throat, or carve this into her chest.”  Hotch slid more detailed photographs, closer at multiple angles, across the table to the rest of you.  Morgan reached for the one of Abby on the M.E.’s table, focused on her head and the pentagram, while you grabbed a few of the other photographs the M.E. took to document findings.

“An inverted pentagram.”

“Some things never change.”  That was one thing Rossi had dealt with a _lot_ during his first tenure at the BAU.  People faking a satanic cult as part of a murder.

“Killer satanic cults don’t exist.” Prentiss replied, turning to Rossi as she looked up from the photographs on the table, “They were debunked as a suburban myth.”

A brief silence took over the meeting room as you all looked at Prentiss in either pity or disbelief.

“What?”

“Rossi’s the one that debunked them,” Reid reminded her, the rest of you watching in amusement – despite the gruesome case that _everyone_ knew the team needed to investigate – as Prentiss bore an embarrassed smile and turned to face the man who was arguably the _most_ amused by all of this.

“Oh, right…thanks.”

“Cult or not, the killing was ritualized,” Rossi observed as he turned in his seat to look back at the pictures on the screen, “This will turn serial if it hasn’t already.”

“So, satanic cults don’t exist, but satanic serial killers do?” JJ questioned the rest of you.  It had been clear from the start the team was needed, _immediately_ , but the details and complexities around satanic killings was something only people who _needed_ to know in detail looked into.

“ _Lasciate ogni Speranza ch’entrate.”_   Rossi recited in fluent Italian, getting up and lightly slapping the edge of his file on the table before leaving the meeting, preparing to leave for Florida.

“Topical,” you’d recognized the line from _Dante’s Inferno_ , Italian wasn’t a far cry from the Spanish you’d been speaking as long as you could remember and had quickly picked it up during college, “That should probably be the Florida state motto.”

“Uh, it’s from _Dante’s Inferno_ ,” Reid filled everyone else in, interpreting the quote, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”

“So, that’s a yes,” JJ extrapolated the answer to her question from that, though a simple _yes_ would have sufficed.

“A _big_ yes,” Hotch warned before giving everyone the order to meet at the airstrip, _soon_ , in order to get this under control as soon as possible.

 

************

 

You’d buried your excitement when you saw Reid tuck the books on his desk into his go-bag.  He likely wouldn’t have time to even _look_ at them until the flight back home, but it would be _worth it._

“We never found evidence of a killer satanic cult,” Rossi instructed the rest of you as everyone sat around the jet, a bit more spread out instead of crammed around the table.  Rossi had turned his seat at the far end of the jet to face the rest of you, you and Reid were comfortably on the couch instead of squeezed together with the others to try and see what was on the table, and it’s not like the jet was large enough that you’d have to yell across the cabin.  “In reality, there are only two types of violent satanic criminals.”

“Uh, type one – teen Satanists assume the satanic identity to rebel.  Minor crimes, theft, and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority.”  Reid quoted Rossi’s book, word-for-word, feeling like the kid in class with all the answers.  “When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent.”

“Yes, in extreme cases, deadly.”  Rossi had been in the office for a few weeks, even heard a few things from Gideon, but Dr. Reid never ceased to surprise him.  “That was out of my book word-for-word.”

“Oh, trust us,” Morgan was just as surprised as the rest of you, which was to say not at all, and the rest of you just barely bothered to look up from your files to either shoot an amused smile at Reid or Rossi, “We know.”

“Killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control.  Killings won’t turn serial – “ Reid continued until you reached over to pat his leg without even looking up from the open file in your lap.  You weren’t really thinking, just acting in impulse, and all Reid did was look down at your hand just before you pulled it away and he looked up at you for a second, recognizing the gentle signal to _shush._

Morgan had to wonder…did you just find the _off switch?_

He looked up at Prentiss, JJ, and Hotch who were coming to the same conclusion.

You hadn’t even been in the BAU for six months, and not only had you and Reid _quickly_ settled into a friendly prank war between shared interests and academic debates, but you’d also found a quiet signal to quiet him and invaded his personal space without the slightest sign he was uncomfortable.

“Alright,” Prentiss broke the short silence of realization before moving back to the case, “What’s type two?”

“The _adaptive_ Satanist is the one you have to worry about,” Rossi warned, “The typical serial killer rationalizing his fantasies by blaming them on outside forces.”

“Like Satan,” JJ connected.

“Yes.  He adapts satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives,” Rossi further explained, summarizing it all.  “He doesn’t kill because he believes in Satan.  He believes in Satan because he kills.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s the teenagers.”  Hotch offered some hope that it might not be the worst case scenario, despite the evidence pointing to the unsub being an adaptive Satanist before offering a warning to the rest of you to keep your wits about you, “Whether you’re religious or not, the presence of satanic elements can affect even the most experienced investigators, and we’re not immune.  So, keep an eye on the locals, and keep an eye on each other.”

“Regular check-ins, make sure nobody loses their shit.”  You closed the file in your lap, putting it aside, “Got it.”

“My mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out,” Morgan tried to reassure the rest of you he’d be fine, “This whole… _devil thing_ doesn’t spook me at all.”

“Maybe it’s because you never truly bought the… _god_ part either,” Reid offered an explanation, one that made _sense._   Logic dictates if you believe in one, you have to believe the other.  That’s _part_ of the religion, the battle between good and evil, and without the devil there is no evil to battle.

“No offense, kid, but you don’t know what I believe.”  Morgan was short of snapping at Reid, but he _was_ defensive.  That comment about church as well…overcompensation for being spooked.  That was Derek’s _go-to_ when he was shaken, you’d recognized it a _lot_ over the years.  He was like a brother to you, but sometimes…sometimes he needed a little slap over the head – verbal or otherwise.

“The entire thing is based on the battle between good and evil, true faith in one requires at least _respect_ of the other as a threat, if not outright fear,” you pointed out the logical flaw in his earlier claim, far safer from a backlash than anyone else on the jet, “The only way you can have no theological fear of the devil is if you don’t believe in the first place.”

“People’s reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders,” Hotch stepped in as Derek shot a look at you, irritated that you couldn’t just _leave it be_ for _once_ , before things got worse.  The warning was for everyone, no matter your faith, as it wasn’t just you that could be affected.  It was everyone.

“It has power, and it would be a mistake to underestimate it.”


	11. Hope And Faith Don't Need Logic, They Just Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m going for a sort of FitzSimmons ship in this one – for those of you who have seen Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and will understand that – with the addition of a friendly prank war added in.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Hope And Faith Don't Need Logic, They Just Need You

 

Hotch took you and Reid to the medical examiner’s office, for obvious reasons, to meet Detective Jordan while Morgan, Rossi, and JJ made their way to the local church to talk to Abby’s parents and the local priest.  You already had your hair tied back into a bun and blue gloves on your hands, sweater long-since abandoned after stepping off the jet into the Florida heat and leaving you in a sleeveless white button-up far more comfortable in the humidity.

“We found Abby’s car at a gas station near her home,” the detective filled the rest of you in, “No sign of foul play.  Dr. Fulton?”

“The gators got to her sometime during the night.  Her nose was broken at least 48 hours prior.”

“About the time of the abduction,” Prentiss put the pieces together.

“Blitz attack,” Hotch agreed.  You and Reid were listening, but you were more focused on Abby.  You were at the far end of the line, you’d peeked under the sheet to look at the bones that remained.  Specifically, at the edge, where her spine had been cut from the rest of her body before looking at the missing fingers on her hand.  The cuts…they were all _clean_.  Like they’d been cut by an instrument instead of bitten.

“What was the cause of death?” Reid questioned as you lowered the sheet, standing upright from leaning over to get a clear look of just what _you_ were looking at.  He knew a lot of things, he knew the _basics_ of things you looked at, but he wasn’t about to claim anything reaching the expertise and training you had.  The first thing Spencer Reid had ever learned was that there was always _more_ to learn.

“Her throat,” the timid M.E. answered, “It was cut roughly eight hours prior to the discovery of the body.”

“No way to tell if there was any sexual assault.”  You pulled off the white latex gloves with a practiced precision before disposing of them in the red and white bin behind you.  “The base of the spine was cut, the edge is too smooth for it to have been _bitten_ off.  I can’t say I know _why_ , but the unsub did that, not local wildlife.”

Hotch nodded with your short report, that was _why_ he took you to meet with the M.E., why you immediately checked in with the M.E. for every case and immediately introduced as a Forensic Anthropologist.  That was hardly the only thing you added to the team, and it was hardly a requirement for the team to have someone with your training, but it had become _immensely_ helpful just on your first case with the team.

“The pentagram?” Hotch turned to the M.E.

“That was done postmortem.”

“And the fingers?”

“All severed at the first knuckle.”

“When?”

“I was unsure when the fingers were removed, until I found this,” the M.E. shifted his weight, uncomfortable with this part of the autopsy as he reached behind him to grab the metal bowl holding Abby’s stomach contents and placed them on the table.  “The contents of her stomach.  The condition indicates they were fed to her just prior to her death.”

You all peered inside the bowl, silent for a moment before Reid made the observation that let you know exactly what kind of unsub you were dealing with.

“All ten fingers…”

Adaptive Satanist it was, then.

Still…

There was something…odd about the fingers.  You asked to stay behind and take a look at them yourself, something the local M.E. was more than willing to let you do if it would keep him from becoming further involved in the case.  On the way back to the precinct, the others picked up Prentiss as Hotch also decided to stick around, and gave a quick update to compare notes. 

Abby’s stomach acid didn’t have long to work before she died, but it was powerful stuff, and then there was the state in which Abby was found in the first place.  Hotch remained in the waiting room just outside, staying _out_ of the way, but Reid had remained with you in the lab.  Partially out of curiosity, partially to remain available to help if you needed – though he took a seat on a stool and waited until you said something.

It had taken you about a minute to finish setting up before you tossed him the cardboard box of latex gloves and told him to _get to work_.  He had to return the box of _small_ gloves before grabbing larger gloves that would actually fit, but You had ten fingers to filter through, and the sooner you got that done the sooner you could catch the unsub – in theory.  It was…kind of fun being in a lab again, for both of you.  You were both hunched over, seated on stools on opposite sides of the metal table, as you got to work.

It was fun working together, to be specific.

Comfortable.

“Got a second index finger already,” you brought up just as the two of you were starting, immediately catching Reid’s attention as you grabbed another finger to examine, the other doctor looking up at you from across the metal lab table.

“I already found two,” he replied, causing you to look up at him as the two of you reached the same conclusion before you’d even found the other two or discovered that _none_ of the fingers were Abby’s.

Abby wasn’t the first victim.

 

************

 

You’d taken prints from each of the fingers and sent them in to Garcia to run.  It didn’t take long for her to call with the ID’s, each finger belonged to a different woman, and there were over forty prostitution arrests between the ten of them.  Each one of the previous ten victims were picked up in the area surrounding Bridgewater, meaning the unsub was _in_ Bridgewater and avoided killing there to avoid detection – maintaining his _safety zone._

He violated that zone, and left the fingers, because nobody knew he existed.  He didn’t have any attention, he wasn’t _scaring_ anyone, and the power he got from killing wasn’t enough anymore.  He had to be _feared._

None of you had gotten any sleep the night before, and to top things off a young woman went missing as soon as your second day on the case began.

Tracey Lambert, according to her roommate she was going hiking in the area the day before, and her last known location was a public bathroom outside the hiking trail – her jeep parked outside.  The oddity – the proof it was connected – was in one of the bathroom stalls.  An inverted pentagram drawn inside, a few books left neatly balanced and lined up on the toilet lid.

The unsub had been in a mental institution.  He’d been closely watched, told to keep order while he was institutionalized, and like almost everyone else released from an institution he still held onto _some_ semblance of order while his mind fell back into chaos and he stopped taking his medication.

Locals joining for a search was hardly new, but the appearance of the priest made Morgan wildly uncomfortable.  It was onto this again, and he was just short of lashing out at people in response.  You really didn’t want to hear it from the priest either, while you kept your mother’s cross necklace with you it wasn’t like you’d actually gone to church recently.  Still, you were polite, congenial, and while the man could tell you hadn’t gone in years you just brushed it off as work keeping you busy and the both of you left it at that.

“Father Marks tried to talk me into going back to church, apparently soup like the stuff the volunteers were serving is a common occurrence,” you started up conversation as you and Reid joined the search.  “That’s not why I stopped going, but it’s sure as hell a way to keep me _away_.  It smelled _toxic,_ I just about hurled.”

“It was…pretty bad.” Reid agreed, he hadn’t asked why you went back to the car to dig the granola bars out of your bag, but the entirety of the team had been grateful as you either handed or tossed one to them.  He wasn’t religious, but he also wasn’t going to claim he had all the answers or that intelligent people can’t believe in a god – _he_ didn’t, but he’d been wrong before and part of religion involves having _faith_ even without proof.  “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Privately, yeah, I haven’t gone to church since high school,” you admitted as the two of you walked through the brush of the surrounding area, looking for hints and clues that Tracey could have been through the area instead of just yelling like the civilians trying to help.  “I’m not…I don’t need someone to snap their fingers and fix everything, I honestly don’t even believe that’s _possible_ – Butterfly Effect, you know?”

You didn’t have to go into the whole theory of the _Butterfly Effect,_ there was no doubt in your mind that Reid knew the details better than you ever would.  He nodded, ducking under a low-hanging branch before turning back to you and holding it up so you could slip under with ease.

“I just like the idea that there’s someone who knows, someone who cares,” you shrugged, hands tucked into the back pockets of your jeans as you kept your balance with ease in your old gray ankle-high boots, comfortable in the thick and sturdy high heels.  You hadn’t even bothered with a sweater that morning, just throwing on the pale gray t-shirt you picked out for the day and went to work.  “Someone who cares that I do some good, someone who cares that I’m hurting or struggling.  Someone who has all the answers I can’t have and knows what will happen, even if it’s not part of some plan and I can’t possibly know.  I just…I find some peace in that.”

“And the devil?”  Reid had to admit, that was a…a beautiful way of looking at things, a sentiment he could understand.  Watching you work in the lab…working _with_ you in the lab…it was hard to explain.  While his mind just snapped things into place, he pictured it as straight lines connecting things.  Like when a little kid draws a straight line between points on a ‘ _Connect The Dots’_ puzzle.  Sharp, efficient, even if he had to take a moment to step back and see the massive picture, he still _got_ it. 

You…it was more like swirls, like a vine of flowers twisting and twirling through a tree or a calm river bending and flowing to connect a series of small towns.  No…that didn’t quite fit either.  The image that came to mind were the vines in old Victorian patterns, the lines in the ornate patterns _dancing_ through the image as branches and leaves bloomed from the main stem.  That sounded so… _romanticized,_ but it was the only thing he could think of that adequately fit.

All that aside, Reid wanted to make sure you’d be okay.  You’d grown up with Morgan and admitted to being raised religious.  Though, while Morgan was overcompensating for being set on edge by the satanic aspects of this case, along with dealing with his issues dealing with the priest, you seemed…unphased.

“That’s just part of the deal.  You can’t have good without evil, you can’t appreciate it.  If there’s no dark, you can’t recognize the light,” you answered, the two of you having stopped to take a look at what looked like bothered brush before hearing a group nearby calling for Tracey.  “We face evil every day, the fact that the unsub believes that Satan told him to do this doesn’t make it any different from any other case or any other evil.  So, I’m not going to treat it any differently.”

There was a beauty in how your mind mixed logic and faith, in how it danced and weaved, and Reid couldn’t help but admire it.  You were clever, funny, and had a gift for bringing people out of their melancholy and putting a smile on their face.  You _cared_ , you cared quickly and wholly, and even went as far as making sure you had little snacks for the entire team.  It came as a _bit_ of a surprise, to those who knew him, that he opened up to you so quickly, but it had far more to do with _him_ than with _you_.  He still remembered the first time the two of you met, months before you even started, and came out of nowhere finishing a quote he’d started reciting.

Was it the similarities or the differences that made it so easy for the two of you to click?

Maybe it was both.

The two of you froze when you heard someone blowing one of the whistles handed out to groups of volunteers.  Only a fraction of a second later you got a call from Hotch.

_“He took another woman.”_


	12. Everyone Has A Fight They Won't Back Down From

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played the violin when I was a kid. To this day, the screeching of violin strings when the bow is pushed against the strings still sends a cringey feeling right up my spine and too my skull. Just thinking about it makes me cringe.
> 
> I’d literally rather be exposed to the screech of nails against a chalkboard than the high-pitched demonic sound of violin strings being scraped by the bow.

# Friendship Set Aflame

### Everyone Has A Fight They Won't Back Down From

 

Father Marks was making no progress trying to find the unsub on the list of volunteers.  The team regrouped at the precinct, and you were getting yet another cup of coffee for a long night at the same time Morgan was giving you and Prentiss an update on the priest’s progress.  You dug your phone out of your pocket with a bit of surprise, not expecting a call, before spotting the caller ID.

“Hey, sexy thing, what’cha got for me?” you greeted Garcia, a bit surprised she called you when she called Derek whenever she knew he was available – unless someone else had privately requested she look something up.

 _“I’m still running the particulars of our homicides through VICAP, nothing so far.”_   No witty answer, no lighthearted banter, just right to business.  Something was definitely wrong.

“That’s okay, Prentiss and I just sent over a list of volunteers from the search.”

_“Okay, and I’m cross-checking the names against mental institution records.”_

“Focus on people who were involuntarily committed, nobody outside of Florida.  Rossi thinks the unsub would stick close to home,” you continued, grabbing your cup of coffee as you stepped away to get back to work.  Though, not before settling something while you could speak with the technical analyst without anyone overhearing.

_“Got it, talk to you later – “_

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” you caught her before she hung up, making her pause on the other end and leading you to explain.  “You haven’t talked to Derek since _yesterday_ , you had no fun _‘I know I’m sexy’_ retort when I answered the phone – a full minute without any lighthearted banter at _all_.  What’s up?”

 _“God, I hate profilers,”_ Garcia huffed on the other end of the line, and you couldn’t exactly blame her.  Profiling, even with the rules against profiling team members, wasn’t something you could just _shut off._   That was part of the reason why the team knew so much about each other.  That, mixed with how much time you spent together even outside of work, made it inevitable.  Hell, a guy had asked you out just the week before and your subconscious had profiled him before you had a chance to hit the proverbial ‘override,’ leading you to saying no because there were things you did _not_ want to risk finding out where right.  _“I met this guy at the coffee shop I go to every day.”_

“And Dee’s been a big ole’ bucket of _man_ stupid.”  It was sweet that he wanted to solve all the problems and make everything better, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care, but he had to learn to just shut up and listen.  Not everything was something he had to solve.  “You do me a favor and have fun on your date, okay?  And take it easy on him, you could charm someone to death if you’re not careful.”

You heard a little giggle from the other end of the line, _“I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”_

“Hey,” you nodded your head towards a more private spot in the crowded precinct after catching Morgan’s attention.  It wasn’t odd for the two of you to step away for a conversation, whether it was related to work or not, so Prentiss didn’t think anything of it.  Neither did Derek, though you’d long since learned how to hide the fact you were going to give him a _talking to._

“Not everything is something you can solve or control.  When Garcia came to you, she just wanted you to listen, and I get that you and Rossi don’t get along but you’re gonna have to learn to work together without killing each other before the rest of us pay the price.”  You kept your voice low, hands on your hips as you gave Morgan a _mom look_ you’d picked up dealing with the other interns you worked with, both in the field or the lab, and stepped in once again before he could protest.  “And I can’t claim to understand what you’re dealing with in the whole religion thing, but you need to stop lying to yourself and deal with it.”

“Sis, I love you, but you need to know when to step back.  This is my problem – “

“We didn’t stop being family when I joined the team, Dee.  We need to set up new boundaries, I get that, but I’m not gonna stop caring about you just because our desks are next to each other.”  You weren’t taking it, you arguably should have told Derek to get his shit together earlier but you had no idea he had the fight with Garcia on top of everything else.  You also weren’t going to let this sit as a _fight_ and walk away without a smile and at least half a hug.  “If you wanna talk, I’m here, but you’re gonna have to get your whole… _cliché_ alpha male jock shit under control before we shove you in a cave with the rest of the Neanderthals.”

“ _Oh!”_ Derek exclaimed, smile growing as he chuckled a little at your lighthearted show of _sass,_ to the point you were still standing there with a hand on your hip and head cocked to the side.  It was so _purposely_ overdone he couldn’t help but laugh.  “Anything but the _cave_ , doc, they draw on the walls there.”

“Then someone better get his shit together, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah I hear you,” the giggles faded, and Derek wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you into a hug.  “Thanks for the pep-talk.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Get back to work.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

“I thought I told you to never say that again.”

 

************

 

“You’re awfully close to Agent Morgan,” Rossi observed as the two of you continued to work, acting like he was making ambient conversation when he was really just digging.  “Hotch said he looked into hiring you on Morgan’s recommendation.”

“Get to the point, old man,” you didn’t even look up from the papers in your hand.  “I know my worth, I know I would have gotten here one way or another, and I know that _you_ know it too.”

Well…goading you into a conversation wasn’t going to work.  You’d been avoiding talking to him for anything outside of work, of _cases_ to be specific, since the case in Texas.  It was a bit of a shame, really.  As much as Rossi hated to admit it…Hotch was right.  Rossi wasn’t about to spill his secrets to the team, and it looked like he was going to be in a battle with Morgan for a while, but there were certain…concessions if he was going to stay long enough to…settle things.  Reid seemed to have a saint-like patience, Prentiss had perfected a professional mask to hide behind that gave room for jokes and laughs, and JJ’s entire job description was working with difficult people.

You…were… _odd._

More than that…you reminded him of someone…

You wore your heart on your sleeve, if someone asked about something from your past you’d answer honestly, but to attach yourself so quickly to the entire team made very little sense.  You were already attached to Morgan long before you’d joined the team, but the rest…

“Just, you haven’t been here long and you’re already close to everyone.  A bit…trusting for what we do.”

“This team is a family, and I went off to college at eighteen with a dead mom, a brother making a career as a criminal, and a dad who’d just _taken off_ without a note or leaving a number to reach him _,_ ” you explained simply, putting the documents down on the desk in front of you and turning to face Rossi as you answered, simply and sternly.

 _Ah…_ that would explain some things…

You would throw yourself on a grenade if it would spare just one person on the team.

“You don’t like people telling you what to do – immense issues with authority but no evidence of mommy or daddy issues so it probably links to a childhood friendship.  Someone who you’d get in trouble with all the time.  You like to be unpredictable, go against the grain, you want to be anything but _ordinary_ and you want to prove _everyone_ wrong.”  You were throwing yourself on that grenade, but not how Rossi _though_ you would.  “Well, we all think you’re going to become the weak link.  You actively fight us, expect us to just _trust_ you without explaining things, you proved we can’t trust you on your first case back.  If your goal is to show us you’re not the great agent we all thought you were, you’re doing a hell of a job.”

You turned to leave.  It was late, you were hungry, and you wanted a shower.  You’d grab some food from the gas station on the way back to the hotel.

You’d left the bait, Rossi _knew_ you were baiting him into actually making an effort at being part of the team, and you were fully aware that he knew.

You’d also just challenged him, and it would conflict with his very nature _not_ to take the bait.

 

************

 

Your hair was still damp when you tied it up into a bun, Hotch had called you just as you rinsed out the conditioner to let you know there was _another_ woman found – this time at the church.  The local M.E. was spooked by the case, and immediately stepped back as soon as you asked to take a look.  You had _some_ experience dealing with tissue, not nearly as much and normally on bodies that had minimal tissue left behind, but you had _some._   Enough to take a sample and look for something on the cellular level.

Hotch had shared his suspicion with you over the phone, and you were inclined to agree with him.

It was careful work, but you could do it.

“Her name is Maria Lopez,” Prentiss filled you and Hotch in, the M.E. leaning back against the counter almost tucking himself into the corner, like he was hiding from whatever evil might remain on Maria’s body.  “She’s 34 years old, numerous arrests for solicitation and prostitution just like the others, but she was reported missing nine months ago.”

“She’s been dead 72 hours, and I can say with certainty there was no sexual assault,” the M.E. reported his findings as you peered through the microscope at the sample on the small glass slide.

“The cells burst…” you observed aloud before standing upright and facing the others, “She was frozen 72 hours after she was murdered, but she’s probably been dead since she was reported missing.”

Hotch was right.

The unsub was a cannibal.

 

************

 

Garcia hadn’t been able to find any records of someone that was both a Satanist and a cannibal, but there was a fire at Hazelwood Hospital for the Criminally Insane in 1998 and most of their records went up in flames.  The only reason they would release a patient that disturbed was they were a minor who turned eighteen.  Dr. Lorenz was in charge of the adolescents at the time, he died in the fire trying to retrieve a journal.

A journal that detailed a single patient who matched the profile.

Floyd Feylinn Ferrell.

On the way back to the car, Hotch had called Rossi to get the rest of the team and look for Feylinn, starting at his house and going from there if need be before meeting back at the precinct.

Feylinn had been admitted at _seven_ after biting a large piece of flesh off his nine-month-old sister and believed he was possessed by a flesh-eating demon.

He’d also dropped his last name before becoming a known member of Bridgewater.  He wasn’t bright, and he was confident that he’d be _protected_.

He’d been found at an _alter_ in his basement, the last victim found alive and chained in a cell, other women found dead in a walk-in freezer, the woman who’d been taken during the search was found alive and able to make a full _physical_ recovery, and no sign of Tracey Lambert.

Now, Feylinn was just sitting in an interrogation room silently, like a puppet controlled by strings.

“Francisco Goya, known as the _Black Paintings_ ,” Reid looked at the paintings that had decorated the alter in Feylinn’s basement, “Lorenz’s notes say that Feylinn was exposed to them as part of his therapeutic art therapy.”

“All the paintings in the world and he thought filling a disturbed boy’s mind with the _Black Paintings_ was a good idea,” you retorted, pointing out the flaw in the theory as you looked at yet another one of Goya’s more disturbing works.

“He kills them after 72 hours, Tracey’s been gone for 24,” Hotch focused on the facts that could help, on treating this like a _missing persons_ and focus on trying to bring Tracey home.  He handed the book of recipes to Morgan.  “See if you can find out where she is.”

 

************

 

It was worth a shot, but Feylinn would only speak to Father Marks.  So, the call was made, the team waited, and Morgan went right back in there with the priest.  The tension in the room had nothing to do with Morgan’s aversion to the priest, they’d settled things, but Father Marks was clearly on edge.  He didn’t know why he was needed, why he was asked for, and his entire living was based in his faith.  To him, he was staring down the truest evil.

“Thank you for coming, father.”  Feylinn still spoke like someone was telling him what to say, like a child being told to say _hello_.  That attitude was attributed to his belief in the _smart friend_ that told him what to do and say, the demon he believed possessed him.

The team watched in a large meeting room between interrogation rooms, all eyes glued to the one-way mirror.

“Anything I can do to – “ Father Marks briefly forgot his instructions to stay quiet, let Morgan do all the talking, but remembered when the agent waved his hand as a signal before turning back to face Feylinn, sitting at the end of the table while the priest and the Satanist sat on opposite sides.

“Floyd, I had to pull some serious strings to get him here.  My bosses didn’t like the idea at all of sendin’ him in.”  That was…sort of true.  The locals didn’t like the idea, the team was fully aware that it was the only way to get any answers.  Morgan was just using an interrogation technique, leading the unsub into thinking you did them a _favor_ getting what they wanted.  In this case, he was using it to try and settle things into a safer routine, into keeping Feylinn’s attention focused on talking to Morgan instead of Father Marks.  “Now, they’re gonna allow him to sit right here and listen, but you’re gonna talk to me, all right?”

“Okay.”  Feylinn wasn’t upset, wasn’t fighting, just went with it.  Just like he did when he was apprehended.  He didn’t even argue as you went through his things while he was being arrested in nothing but his underwear.  “I’ve done some really bad things.”

Morgan shot Father Marks a look, making sure the priest remained quiet, before moving on with the interrogation.  “Everybody’s done things they’re not proud of, Floyd.  The only thing that helps is to talk about ‘em, tell other people.”

Rossi had the volunteer sign-in sheets in his hands, going through them over and over again and looking more and more baffled every time.

“Not everything…”  That was the first sign of any fight since you’d seen Feylinn…

“This is strange.”  Rossi spoke up and drew everyone’s attention from watching the interrogation.  “When he entered the park, Feylinn signed the volunteer sign-in sheet, but his name’s not on the list of searchers.”

“There were other jobs to do, helping with the organization, basic first-aid, organizing the search grid and splitting up searchers into teams,” you only listed off a few, all of which requiring some level of leadership that you _all_ knew Feylinn wasn’t capable of.  He wasn’t assertive enough for that.  So…what other job could he have done?

“Come on, Floyd,” you heard Morgan through the intercom leading to the interrogation, “Where’s Tracey Lambert?”

“Something’s wrong.”  Rossi told the rest of the team, admitting he didn’t know what it was just yet and looking to the rest of you to fill in the missing piece.

“You are not alone, my son,” Father Marks had been given the clear to try and talk to Feylinn, trying to console the man feigning helplessness.  “God is in all of us.”

“The stew…”  It was hitting you slowly, your line of logic working a bit sluggishly as it swirled around the points it needed to connect.  “It smelled wrong…the smell made me sick.”

“Yeah, we – we talked about that,” he recalled the conversation in the woods when you’d joined the search party.

You could _hear_ it all connecting, like the screech of a violin when the bow is pressed too harshly against the strings.  Rossi tossed the file down as you turned on the ball of your foot to head to the interview room as Rossi made the call, “We need to stop the interview.”

Feylinn looked up for the first time, head cocked to the side as an eerie grin started to grow on his face.

“So is Tracey Lambert.”

_He’d been feeding the volunteers with food from his restaurant._

 

********

 

You were…irritatingly right.

Rossi hated admitting when he was wrong, even to himself, but if you were right then he was – by default – wrong.

Working with Gideon hadn’t been easy at the start, but it had been easy to figure things out.  He’d have to push and prod here and there, push Gideon to what needed to be done or grow as he needed just as Gideon pushed him.  With this team…it’s different.  It’s not two agents, turned friends over the years, both just as egotistical and bullheaded as the other.

It had become a place where a group of oddballs, who couldn’t find anywhere else to belong, faced the darkest parts of the world so innocents didn’t have to.

A group of _kids_ – some of them _terrifyingly_ young – that Hotch was trying to look over while his own personal life was falling apart.

A bunch of kids with their own shadows haunting them along the way, all in _desperate_ need of some sort of guidance or semi-parental figure in their lives.

Emphasis on _kids._

“What, what?” you jumped awake as Reid shook you awake, you’d fallen asleep the second you sat on the couch and Reid had gotten up to grab the books from his go-bag to try and pass the time.  It wasn’t a _long_ flight, and it would only be _nearing_ the evening as the jet landed and he wanted to hold onto some… _semblance_ of a sleep schedule.  Okay, that was a lie, but everyone bought it.  Hell, even _he_ bought it and he was the one telling it.

You were still bleary-eyed when you saw the book – sans book jacket – that Reid was holding in front of you, your smile tired as you looked back up at him.

“Where are they, [Y/N]?”

He was referring to his books, the ones you’d replaced with the _worst_ novellas you could find.

“Your desk, bottom desk drawer.”  You hadn’t even moved his books all that far, just tucked them away into a drawer he never used – never _opened_ from what you could tell – and were always going to be returned unharmed at the end of the case.  You’d also been planning on offering your Kindle, filled with digital copies of the same books Reid was planning on reading.  That didn’t exactly happen.  “What are you doing up?  Get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I get home – “

“You haven’t slept in _days_.  Go to sleep.”

“If I sleep now, my sleep schedule – “

“ _Bullshit_.  I will steal _all_ your books if that’s what it takes for you to get some sleep.”

It was a throw-down of wills.  Reid could be _notoriously_ stubborn, to the point that even _Gideon_ hadn’t been able to persuade the genius every time.  Nobody had a chance of winning when faced against a determined –

Reid grabbed a spare blanket before taking the space left on the couch after you’d curled up under your own blanket, just enough for him to comfortably curl up and get some sleep himself.

You picked your fights, carefully, but anything concerning the well-being of friends and family was something you would _never_ back down from.


End file.
